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PRESENTED BY 



THE QUADRANGLE BOOK 



Printed by 

QUADRANGI.E 

For Private Distribution. The Edition 

Numbers 150 Copies, of which this is 

Number i^O.. 



The 

Quadrangle 

Book 



Jik Sk 



Being Excerpts from "Q" 



Sk Sk 

Printed by Quadrangle 

for 

Private Distribution 



MCMXIV 
Ann Arbor 




PRELUDE V i 

"Go, litel boke."— Chaucer, Troylus. 

Go, Little Book, and know that thou 
Art little better than a man; 
That men and books have died ere now, 
And that none lives for aye, nor can; 
Be modest, Little Book, yet pray 
To have thy unassuming day. 
Receive whate'er of good or ill 
The temper of the time bestows, 
Remembering that winds as chill 
Have others felt as on thee blows; 
Be patient, Little Book, as he 
Who sends thee forth himself would be. 
And quavering flashes like sputtering sulphur; 
What men too often blindly shun) 
Such as are leaden to forsake; 
If thou encounter such an one, 
Be wise, O Little Book, take wing 
To one whose heart remembers spring. 
Go, Little Book, forth from me now; 
The world is wide, and thou may'st fall 
In pleasant places, or in low — 
A treasury of books ! a stall ! 
But, good or ill thy lot, hold fast 
To thy good-nature to the last. 

6 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

Prelude 6 

The Trouvere's Song lo 

Academic Tensions 1 1 

Easter Day on the Plains 31 

A Sonnet to Noah 32 

My Defense of Professor Wenley 33 

Salt Lake City , 38 

Concerning Quadrangle's New Honorary Member. . 39 

To a Sea-Gull, Inland 42 

Classic Epitaphs 44 

Annabelle 48 

The Lost Phantom 49 

A Villanelle 52 

Lost But Found 54 

The Masquerade 56 

Through Oriental Eyes 57 

A Ballad on a Borrowed Name 65 

Impressions of an x\utumn Day 71 

Extracts from the Announcement, — ^^Semitics and 

Hellenistic Greek J^) 

The Segregated Man 81 

A Ballad of Unbidden Guests 83 

At Parting 86 

7 



Herodias 87 

Ad Proserpinam 90 

Tilie House 92 

Love 93 

De Gustibus 95 

Intercollegiate Poetics 98 

A Book Taking 102 

A Hoosier Utopia 104 

My Preachment 123 

Lines to An Instructor 124 

White and Yellow Man Dice 127 

The Worm 144 

To The Devil 146 

A Ballad 148 

"Strife" 148 

The Laughing Gods 149 

The Gypsy Trail 158 

A Fable 160 

A Lesson to a Wayward Boy 161 

Trouble 163 

Scandal 164 

Members <yi Quadrangle 165 



THE TROUVERE'S SONG 

How shall I know what lies beyond 
Where the long road turns to blue, 
Save that I travel that way myself 
And follow the long road through? 

For I was born on the broad highway 
And the moving breeze is kin. 
What is a house but a prison wall 
To keep my heart shut in? 

For I have a 'house at the end of the road 
Where my secret way doth lie ; 
And there I shall go when I quit my song 
And cover my face to die. 

But how shall I know why over there, 
The long road meets the sky, 
Save that I travel that way myself 
And ask the last hill why? 



10 



ACADEMIC TENSIONS 

Sometimes societies are born, not made. They 
spring from an intellectual or spiritual matrix, 
shot forth, as it were, by intimacies of an ideal 
or humanely sympathetic kind. This happens to 
be eminently true of societies, usually small in 
membership and founded upon acquirement 
rather than upon social distinction, which appear 
at the universities from time to time. One such 
I know indirectly. It played nursing mother to 
two of the most eminent among my teachers. 
Of another, so far destined to less note, I was 
myself a youthful adherent. The former grew 
from Oxford enthusiasm generated during the 
liberal ferment of the ninteenth-century fifties: 
the later arose from the all-dominating Hegel- 
ianism of Glasgow about a generation after. Two 
men belonged to both, and thereby hangs a tale. 
Possibly a brief and very inadequate notice may 
help Quadrangle to become more conscious of 
itself. 

II 



On the accession of Victoria and for years 
after, Oxford must have been a dull place, at 
least if one estimate it by its official representa- 
tives. No doubt, Newman and his friends had 
stirred dry bones, but their appeal v^as to that 
academic by-product, faith. They did nothing to 
bring the youth into touch with the main stream 
of European thought, rising in Lessing and Her- 
der, at the flood in Goethe and Hegel. Carlyle 
alone prophesied to a pig-headed populace. Yet, 
notwithstanding eighteenth-century ineffectuali- 
ties entrenched in high places, and the obscurant- 
ism of the Tractarians, productive of much 
blinding fog, young Oxford had awakened here 
and there. Carlyle swayed some, while Mazzini, 
Kossuth, and even J. S. Mill counted their dis- 
ciples. An outbreak verged to manifestation, 
carried on by a most remarkable group, whose 
common ground was "Old Mortality," a college 
society. I am not in a position to give more than 
19 names of O. M's. But, what a list! John 
Nichol, the founder; Hoole; George Rankine 
Ivuke; Thomas Hill Green; ^Eneas Mackay; T. 
H. Holland; J. Payne; A. C. Swinburne; James 

12 



Bryce ; A. V. Dicey ; George Birkbeck Hill ; A. 
G. Grenf ell ; Reginald Broughton ; R. S. Wright ; 
Edward Caird; Walter Pater; R. L. Nettleship; 
Wm. Berkley; Ingram Bywater. It tells little 
that seven of them became prominent profes- 
sors, that one was a cabinet minister, that one 
was a judge of the English High Court, and that 
two were heads of Oxford colleges. The point 
to note is, that seven of the nineteen proved to 
be something like great men, in that they have 
done much to mould their generation. Nichol 
and Caird returned to Glasgow, whence they had 
come, to enter upon a career destined to revolu- 
tionise Scottish thought; Green marked himself 
the greatest writer on ethics England has had 
in the nineteenth century; Swinburne beat Arn- 
old out of poetry, and fixed a new star in the 
mighty Victorian constellation; Bryce interpre- 
tated the United States to itself and to his coun- 
trymen; Pater lent England a new style of crit- 
icism ; Nettleship, ere his tragic death, wielded 
the most potent influence in Oxford, and but 
for his loss, Glasgow would not have had to be- 
moan Caird, who, in his day, was the first per- 

13 



sonality in his second university. In addition, 
Mackay, Hoole, Holland, Dicey, Hill, Wright, 
and Bywater, all distinguished themselves in var- 
ious pursuits ; while Luke, who met death 
by drowning early in his career, was always 
regarded by his associates as the ablest of the 
band. It is of more than passing interest 
to note that five of the men came up from 
Glasgow — Nichol, Caird, Luke, Mackay, and 
Bryce — so that the piquancy of inter- 
national discourse was added to their discussions. 
One of them, the late Master of Balliol, ex- 
presses himself in the connection after a fashion 
that must be of especial note to American stu- 
dents. He says, "By some of the members of 
the society its meetings are remembered as the 
very salt of their university life. The free dis- 
cussion of everything in heaven or earth, the 
fresh enjoyment of intellectual sympathy, the 
fearless intercommunion of spirits, the youthful 
faith that the key of truth lies very near to our 
hands, gave a unique zest and charm to those 
meetings of students with students, before the 
inevitable parting of the ways of manhood has 

H 



come. And I think that, at least to the older 
members of the Old Mortality Society, it is im- 
possible to think of it apart from the image of 
Nichol as one who gave impetus and direction 
to the debates, who broke the ice and kindled the 
fire of controversy by the impetuous freedom of 
his own utterance. The great contest of North 
and South in the United States was then begin- 
ning, and Nichol and Green showed themselves 
from the first well informed as to the nature of 
the struggle, and zealously maintained the jus- 
tice of the Northern cause. They were, I think, 
among the first in this country to recognize the 
genius for democratic leadership which lay hid 
under the rough exterior and Yankee humour of 
Lincoln." Brethren, do you seek any further 
reason why one of your Dons has supported 
Quadrangle through ill report and good, so that 
the society might come to the end triumphant? 

The following is a humorous-serious account 
of the foundation of the Society: 

"A history of the institution of Old Mortality. 
In the year of grace MDCCCLVI., in the month 
of November: Whereas a company of Scholars 

15 



and students of the University of Oxford was 
assembled for purposes of sober and intellectual 
pastime in the rooms of one John Nichol, of Bal- 
liol College: It was proposed by the said John 
Nichol to the company aforesaid, that a Society 
be instituted from among the present students 
of Balliol College and others their friends and 
comrades to the University of Oxford, for the 
purpose of affording one another such intellec- 
tual pastime and recreation as should seem most 
suitable and agreeable to the members of the 
same : and that the society should consist of such 
members of the present company as should be 
willing to enroll themselves therein without de- 
lay, and with the power of adding to their num- 
ber as should seem fit. And whereas the said 
purpose was joyfully and gladly received and 
consented unto by the majority of the company 
present, the following gentlemen, students of 
the University of Oxford, did signify their con- 
sent to join, and were presently enrolled into 
the society aforesaid, viz., Mr. Albert Venn 
Dicey, Balliol; Mr. George B. Hill, Pembroke; 
Mr. John Nichol, Balliol ; Mr. Algernon S. Gren- 

i6 



fell, Balliol; Mr. George Rankine Luke, Balliol; 
Mr. Algernon C. Swinburne, Balliol. And 
whereas, after much bethinking themselves as to 
how the said society should be styled and entitled, 
the name of Old MortaHty was suggested from 
the following weighty considerations : That every 
member of the aforesaid society was, or had 
lately been, in so weak and precarious a condition 
of bodily health as plainly and manifestly to in- 
stance the great frailities, and so to speak, mor- 
tality of this our human life and constitution— 
this name therefore was afterwards formally 
adopted by a law of the society as its future 
style and title. 

''The society then proceeded on the ensuing- 
Saturday to the ordinary business for which it 
had been instituted, in the listening to a passage 
from a modern English author, publicly read be- 
fore the society by one of the members afore- 
said. But whereas from the unforseen absence 
from ill-health of the original proposer and 
founder of the said society, which absence lasted 
until the end of the next term thereafter ensu- 
ing, no full meeting of the society was convened 

17 



until the 2nd. of May, 1857, the formal rules 
and regulations of the society were not till then 
drawn up and presented to the same; but after 
that, in the intervening space, without the draw- 
ing up of such rules meetings had been held, 
and two new members had been admitted, viz., 
Mr. Reginald Broughton, Balliol; Mr. Robert 
S. Wright, Balliol; it was deemed expedient on 
the return of the said John Nichol at the first 
aforesaid general meeting, which took place on 
the 2nd. of May, in the rooms of the aforesaid 
Mr. John Nichol, to propose to the society's con- 
sideration and votes the following fourteen rules 
and regulations, which were accordingly passed 
by the society." 

Only one of these rules possesses any interest 
for us today. It is this : ''That this society shall 
have for its object the stimulating and promoting 
of the interchange of thought among its mem- 
bers, on the more general questions of Literature, 
Philosophy, and Science, as well as the diffusion 
of a correct knowledge and critical appreciation 
of our standard English Authors". How like 
Quadrangle, we exclaim involuntarily ! The sub- 

18 



jects on which papers were presented and dis- 
cussed testify to the environment. An essay on 
the Defense of Suicide ; Instances of the Fanati- 
cal Revival of Communism; Wycliffe; Cicero as 
a Statesman; The Peculiar Merits of the Eng- 
lish Satirists; The Danger of Unduly Exalting 
Strength and Success, with special reference to 
the tone of feeling prevading Carlyle's history 
of Frederick of Prussia. The atmosphere of 
Oxford is at once suggested; also the interest in 
Hume, De Quincey, French politics, the Oxford 
movement, and Carlyle. As yet, men were not 
troubling about Darwin and evolution, about 
Huxley and agnosticism, about Home Rule, 
about preciosity in literature, or about the thou- 
sand and one things which would have moved 
an Old Mortality after the seventies. Further, 
the division between student and teacher, as a 
matter of rank, is attested by the absence of 
anything like the quadrangle dons. But, no 
doubt, Towett, and W. L. Newman, the peerless 
editor of Aristotle's ''Politics", and the best 
tutor of his day, and Riddell, who, had he been 
spared, might have proved himself one of the 

19 



greatest ornaments of Oxford Platonic scholar- 
ship, were well acquainted with the doings of the 
society. And so we leave this group, so magnifi- 
cently fitted, by its young enthusiasms and by 
its maturer achievement, to tell our young club 
in the young land what it may become and what 
its high purpose may effect. 

The Witenagemot, at Glasgow, was something 
far different, arising, as it did, out of the very 
contrasted situation of a Scots university. Glas- 
gow, as I first knew it, in the middle seventies, 
was very like Michigan as I first knew it, in the 
middle nineties, at least as concerned the stu- 
dent body. No Union existed then, residences 
were unknown, and the students, save for the 
artificial unity of the class-rooms, were segment- 
ed in numerous unrelated fragments. But intel- 
lectual life was on the flood, and the whole uni- 
versity tingled with something like excitement. 
A glance, then, at the origins. Edward Caird 
attesting often, in our many conversations over 
these old days, Glasgow, like Oxford, must 
have been a might}^ dull place in the forties and 
fifties. Eighteenth century ineffectualities sat 

20 



in the seats of the mighty to such an extent that 
even St. Andrews, whither Caird hied, was a 
great deliverance. She had Ferrier, the only 
original thinker then in occupancy of a Scots 
philosophical chair ; Shairp, who afterwards filled 
the chair of poetry at Oxford with such distinc- 
tion ; Veitch, who was soon to move to the west ; 
Sellar, beloved of all classical students ; and Tul- 
loch, a large-looming personality; with Flint, 
then in the spring of his powerful manhood, 
thrown in as a kind of make-weight for serious- 
ness. As a matter of fact, Edinburgh was then 
the real intellectual centre, as she had been since 
the day of Scott and his circle. Her three great 
men, ''Christopher North", Sir William Hamil- 
ton, and Aytoun, the professor of English, albeit 
the two former had been contributed by Glasgow, 
were the bright particular stars of the academic 
firmament, while her medical school still retained 
many of the masters who had sealed its fame. 
But after i860, the primacy departed from Edin- 
burgh, and has since shown no signs of return. 
For in 1861, with the appointment of John Caird 
to a chair at Glasgow, there began the brightest 

21 



period in the history of the university. Thom- 
son, then plain William, was sohang the problem 
of the transatlantic cable ; Lister was working 
out the antiseptic treatment; and Rankine was 
laying the scientific foundation of modern engi- 
neering within her halls. Lushington, Tenny- 
son's brother-in-law, (he who wore "all that 
weight of learning lightly like a flower"), the 
most finished scholar in his day, occupied the 
chair of Greek, only to be succeeded by a greater 
in the person of Jebb; Ramsay, famous for his 
Roman iniquities, as students irreverently called 
the book, a dominating and transitive personal- 
ity, held the chair of Latin. In quick succession, 
Veitch, the last typical Scots professor, Nichol 
and Edward Caird joined the professoriate in 
the arts faculty, and John Caird was elevated to 
the principalship. The eighteenth century hob- 
bled out for good and all, and a veritable torrent 
of fresh thought overflowed the university tur- 
bulently. Preachers might damn, parents and 
guardians might shake their heads, Sir William 
Thomson might preach, as no other, the impor- 
tance of physics, but the student body had nor 

22 



eyes nor ears for any save the Caird brothers 
and their impetuous ally, John Nichol. ''Bliss 
was it in that morn to be alive, but to be young 
was very heaven." Nothing like this has hap- 
pened at Michigan — we do not breed the men, or 
we cannot acquire them. But even at this, Ann 
Arbor is a very different place from what it 
seemed to me to be in the middle nineties. This 
difference bred Quadrangle. The flooding He- 
gelianism of Glasgow shot forth Witenagemot. 
The Caird influence attained its zenith from about 
1874 till 1888; then the decline could be sensed 
by all except the extremely partisan. As my 
course ran from 1878 to 1884, I appeared about 
the last period, and therefore know nothing of 
the exact origin of Witenagemot. But the soci- 
ety came into being about the seventies. 

Reference to the lists would seem to prove 
that the Caird movement, as it must be called, 
flowered thrice in groups of able men, who 
whether disciples or not, passed through cycles 
of tremendous transformation. In each case, 
eight appeared to have been the perfect number. 
Thus we have, first, in the years 'y2-y^, John 

2:^ 



Watson, John M'Cunn, James Bonar, James G. 
Frazer, Colin Campbell, James Thompson, Ebe- 
nezer B. Spiers, William P. Ker; second, in the 
years '77-79, Wallace M. Lindsay, James Kidd, 
Mimgo M/Callum, John H. Muirhead, James 
Mackintosh, John Edgar, Henry Jones, James 
Denney ; third, in the years '82-'84, John S. Mac- 
kenzie, William Smart, Francis Anderson, James 
M'Millan, John Struthers, John Adams, Cosmo 
G. Lang, and your humble servant. Others there 
were, but these men supported Witenagemot, 
and on their subsequent work its reputation rests. 
After 1884 the movement fell away, and the so- 
ciety waned. During the period of my assistant 
professorship, from 1886 on, I cannot remember 
that Witenagemot held any meetings. Its work 
was accomplished, and other influences were be- 
ginning to acquire power. In a word, it based 
itself too exclusively upon the Hegelian mood. 
Looking at the personnel of these twenty-four 
"wise men", it is curious to note the differentiat- 
ing effect of the Scottish environment. Of the 
nineteen Old Mortalities but one (Berkley) took 
orders; of our band no less than eight entered 

24 



the ministry, while six others were deeply af- 
fected by theological or religious problems. 
Again, Witenagemot even more than Old Mor- 
tality was destined to be a nursery for the pro- 
fessoriate, thus attesting the Scottish passion for 
education and educational institutions. Seven of 
the Oxford men, as w^e saw, made their mark as 
professors ; of the Scotsmen, no less than fifteen 
— very nearly seventy-five per cent — are now in 
occupancy of important chairs. Two (Bonar 
and Struthers) are civil servants; four are very 
distinguished clerg)^, Lang being an Archbishop 
of the Anglican church, and Campbell being a 
King's chaplain, the equivalent of a bishopric in 
the Scottish church ;one is a Fellow at Cambridge, 
Frazer; while three are dead, two (Thomson and 
M'Millan, both regarded by their associates as 
of outstanding ability) passed away during their 
academic career, the ''white plague" serving their 
doom. Notice, too, the traditional roving ten- 
dency of the Scot. None of the Old Mortalities 
sought to carve their fortunes in foreign lands; 
but four members of Witenagemot let themselves 
loose "forth of Scotland" — Watson in Canada; 

25 



M'Callum and Anderson in Australia, where they 
are colleagues in the University of Sydney, the 
best endowed of Australian institutions ; and the 
man who is alleged to have become innoculated 
with Nichol's diablerie, in the United States. 
Legal and political leanings, too, proved strong- 
er in the Oxford circle, taking the place of Scots 
theology and religious disputation ; while we had 
no one to place alongside Swinburne, although 
John Davidson was of our number during his 
Glasgow residence. Moreover, the northern gen- 
ius for philosophy had its way. Two philoso- 
phers, one of them a Scot, came forth from Old 
Mortality, but Witenagemot produced no less 
than eight. Of the fifteen chairs mentioned, 
eight are philosophical (Watson, M'Cunn, Muir- 
head, Mackenzie, Jones, Mackintosh, Anderson 
and Wenley) ; two are in literature (Ker and 
M'Cullum; two in education — not pedagogy! — 
(Edgar and Adams) ; one in Latin (Lindsay) ; 
one in theology (Denney) ; and one in economics 
(Smart). The following universities are repre- 
sented: Queens, Liverpool, Birmingham, Wales, 
Glasgow, Manchester, Sydney, London, St. An- 

26 



clrews, Michigan, and the Glasgow Theological 
College of the United Free Church. Jones and 
Smart are colleagues at Glasgow, Ker and 
Adams at London, Lindsay and Edgar at St. 
Andrews, M'Callum and Anderson at Sydney. 
Nor am I left lamenting, for Sadler, even if he 
joined Glasgow after Caird had defected to Bal- 
liol again, stays my faltering footsteps. 

Nichol, and especially Caird, gave frequent 
attendance at our meetings, and on occasions 
brought their distinguished guests — men like 
Jowett, Martineau, Fairbaim, Service, Farrar, 
Lewis Campbell, T. H. Green, Max Miiller, Wal- 
lace Sidgwick, Swinburne, Wm. Bell Scott, Brad- 
ley, James Ward and, doubtless, others. 

While I was a member, the proceedings toolv 
place much as they do in Quadrangle. But the 
dominant interest ran in other directions. Hegel 
and the phases of Hegelianism were easily in the 
lead; then theological questions; some affected 
Ruskin and his views not a little — I remember, 
whether to my shame or credit I know not, talc- 
ing especial pleasure in baiting such ; others fav- 
ored interpretations of English poetry, especially 

27 



of Tennyson, Arnold and Browning; non-philos- 
ophical foreign literature, if memory serves me 
rightly, secured slight, if any, hearing. 

In estimating the place of these societies, and 
indicating what they have meant for others, and 
may mean for us, I cannot do better than quote 
the wise words of Mark Pattison, written in con- 
nection with his appreciation of Casaubon's 
work, words far too little read today. "The 
scholar is greater than his books. The result of 
his labours is not so many thousand pages in 
folio, but himself. The 'Paradise Lost' is a grand 
poem, but how much grander was the living soul 
that spoke it. Yet poetry is much more of the 
essence of the soul, is more clearly a transcript 
of the poet's mind, than a volume of 'notes' can 
be of any scholar's mind. It has often been said 
of philosophy that it is not a doctrine but a 
method. No philosophical systems, as put upon 
paper, embody philosophy. Philosophy perishes 
in the moment you would teach it. Knowledge is 
not the thing known, but the mental habit which' 
knows. So it is with Learning. Learning is a 
peculiar compound of memory, imagination, 

28 



scientific habit, accurate observation, all ,con- 
centrated through a prolonged period on the ana- 
lysis of the remains of literature. The result of 
this sustained mental endeavor is not a book, 
but a man. It cannot be embodied in print, it 
consists in the living word. . . . The only motive 
which can support the daily energy called for in 
the solitary student's life, is the desire to know. 
Every intelligence, as such, contains a germ of 
curiosity. In some few this appetence is devel- 
oped into a yearning, an eagerness, a passion, an 
exigency, an inquietude poussante, to use an ex- 
pression of Leibniz, which dominates all others, 
and becomes the rule of life." To stimulate this 
inquietude poussante, to compel undying love for 
ideas is the mission, as it is the justification, of 
select academic societies. Self-enlargement, 
through the enlargement of others, sums their 
vitalizing method. And it is, therefore, a happy 
omen for any university when the salt of its 
youth find themselves impelled to organize, con- 
scious of such aims. 



29 



EASTER DAY ON THE PLAINS 

day of wind, and rain, and cold! 
This is the hour, and this the joyous morn, 
In the sweet legend told. 
The martyr of the Cross arose, rehorn, 
Out of the darkness to his Newer Day, — 
And yet the skies are gray! 

The skies are gray, the dawn dead chill, 

And slipping hours but bring the wind, the rain ; 

The endless pale-brown hill 

Is frozen, dumb, and wrapt in siknt pain. 

The heart that would this world of gloom atone 

Must find its joy alone! 

Arickaree, Colorado, April 3, 1904 



31 




A SONNET TO NOAH 



T^Dah! In thy calm Prehistoric days, 

-'•^ I think of thee, Aboriginal Man ! 

Of thee and thy renowned Caravan 

Of Beauteous Beasts — I think and bring thee praise! 

Thou wert so modest! Seemly were thy ways! 

To be a Realist only was thy plan! 

For when thy great Menagerie we scan 

No strange Unnatural Beasts do us amaze. 

Thy hand was free, and thou couldst fill thy Ark 

With Creatures such as never humans saw ! 

Weird shapes of dreams, or Nightmares after wine; 

And thou wast never guilty of a Snark 

Or Purple Cow; and thou didst never draw 

Such Beasts as Herf ord draws, or Caroline ! 

32 



MY DEFENSE OF PROFESSOR WENLEY 

By Lucy Hart, 1910. 

''^ou know, it's dreadfully funny the way most 
•■• people think about Professor Wenley. Why, 
the other day an old lady asked me if he believed 
in God. Just imagine! And Professor Wenley 
knows all about God. Well, perhaps I oughtn't 
to say that ; but anyway he knows all about every- 
thing else. And there are lots of people just like 
that old lady who think Professor Wenley is 
just an ordinary man. They ought to come and 
hear his lectures. 

I think it's too lovely for anything to have a 
man in our University who really knows how 
things really are. And I am terribly glad, too, that 
I came here and didn't go to some other college 
where my mind would have been filled with all 
those foolish wrong ideas and nonsense. 

I can't imagine how people can be so awfully 
foolish as to go on holding their absurd miscon- 

33 



ceptions, when all the time Professor Wenley is 
telling them how wrong they are. I can't think 
how he finds it all out either. I can't even dream 
how he does it. But I suppose he just bohns 
and bohns and grinds and grinds until by and 
by he comes right to a fundamental conception 
or something and there he is. Or perhaps he 
was disappointed in love, maybe; and that gave 
him a deep insight into life. Anyhow I think 
it's terribly noble of him because it must take 
such a lot of self sacrifice and thinking to live on 
basic principles and be superior to everyone else, 
and I think he is just as grand as he can be. 

But then he must find it perfectly lovely to be 
able to show how wrong everybody else has been 
ever since the time of the Greeks. And if any- 
one thinks he has proved anything nowadays, 
Professor Wenley can just go to work and show 
how mistaken that anyone is, and that all his con- 
clusions go by the board and that what he 
thought he had proved is really unthinkable ; and 
you'd never believe how quick he does it. 

I love to hear him lecture because he is so calm 
and assuring and sometimes when he says some- 

34 



thing that you'd hardly ever believe, he smiles, 
just as sweet. I know a girl back home who is 
going to marry a minister, but my ! I wrote her 
what Professor Wenley said about them, how 
they are such hypocrites and all that. I copied 
it right out of my notes and I do hope the warn- 
ing will come to her in time. I wouldn't marry 
a minister for anything. You just ought to see 
Professor Wenley's lip curl when he speaks of 
them. I'm going to marry a philosopher. 

And there are other people just as bad. I re- 
member he told the class one day about a scienti- 
fic man ; and O scientific men are such fools who 
thought that there was something or other lying 
behind mind and matter, just imagine! And 
Professor Wenley told how he wrestled with 
that man in spirit and it didn't do a bit of good. 
The man just wouldn't see how w^rong he was 
nor give up his unwarrantable presuppositions. 
Wasn't that just too mean? 

I love to go to the Quiz hour too, because Pro- 
fessor Wenley just shines there. Pie sits on the 
table swinging one leg and says, "Ask me any 
question." And everyone is afraid to say any- 

35 



thing and then he smiles so sarcastically. And 
by and by some boy will think he is so smart 
and ask a question and Professor Wenley will 
just laugh at him, the thing is so easy and silly 
and then we all laugh. 

I asked him what the soul was one day and he 
was awfully nice about it. He smiled right at 
me and said, "That's just what Philosophy is 
trying to find out." And I felt awful wise be- 
cause I had asked such an important question. 
Then he said, "1 won't tell you what the soul is 
now because if I did you would say that you 
didn't have any such thing;" and I have always 
remembered that. Perhaps if I go to him alone 
sometime he will tell me. 

Some of the girls don't think he's nice, but I 
think that a man who knows so much more than 
anyone else like he does, doesn't have to try to 
be considerate and careful of other people's feel- 
ings like common people do. How can you ex- 
pect him to make himself agreeable to folks when 
he knows all the time how foolish they are and 
when they go plodding on in the same old wrong 
way contradicting all he says. 

36 



It must be awfully exasperating to him to see 
people so dogmatic in their absurd notions when 
he is willing all the time to set them right. I 
think Professor Wenley is just noble and grand, 
the way he treats such an obstinate and self- 
sufficient lot. It makes me all out of patience 
sometimes to see everyone so blind and stub- 
born, but he doesn't mind them. He just keeps 
on lecturing at his classes and he is so scornful 
about it all to himself. And then he's so hand- 
some too; when he takes his hat off. 




SALT LAKE CITY 

'By their fruits ye shall knozv them." 

iccause a lank, untutored farmer lad, 

Coining a wild tale in the hope of gain, 
(Or borrowing from an o'erwrought cleric brain), 
Told it in faltering words and grammar mad. 
Fantastic fancies in crude garments clad, 

And flouted his bold lies, their falsehood plain, 
Before the face of many an ignorant swain. 
Using his power for selfish aims and bad— 

Because these things were so this desert smiled 
And verdure covered o'er the waste wihite sand 
Until it blossomed like a promised land. 

And here men toiled and strove and in this wild 
The blossom of a splendid city grew — ■ 
What was the test proposed for false and true ? 

August 26, 1904 



3H 



CONCERNING QUADRANGLE'S NEW HONORARY 
MEMBER 



JTTts an Easterner, but what o'that? he aint no penny- 
-■--' ante. 

He come up 'ere first from Washington, un gave a talk 

on Dante, 
And we listened quite respectful, and we said, "We like 

his st)de, 

"What's 'e 'ere for?" Some one said, '"E's goin' to 

stay with us a while." 
An' the next we heard about him was that (shaking of 

some thrones) 

He'd been hired by the Regents to stir up a few dry 

bones. 
And the thought just took our breath so, all w=^e said 

was, "Holy Smoke," 
But he's gone and went and done it, 
and 
his 
name 
is 
Koch. 

39 



He will soon have paid attendants, who will know their 

business straight. 
(He has fixed some books already so we do not have to 
wait.) 

And it's rumored that he's planning for the next 
sweep of his broom, 
To arrange a certain system to take books rig'ht to our 

room. 
So to speak, he's made a lib'ry where we had just books 

and shelves, 
Put us next to lots of reading we'd have never known 

ourselves. 
So here's to the new librarian, for he aint no bloomin' 

joke, 
He's a man that kno^^s his business, 
and 
his 
name 
is 
Koch. 

Ten to one before we know it we'll be honest men once 

more. 
With no need to swipe the volumes as we've always 

done before, 
And we'll have to find some other place to let our 

hammers knock. 
Now that things are running smoothly underneath the 

lib'ry clock. 

40 



And we'd like to hang his picture right up there among 

our best, 
In the room he's sort of made into a Pantheon of the 

West, 
And whoever first suggested him, we're miglity glad 

they spoke. 
He has earned our hearty "Thank you," 
and 
his 
name 
is 
Koch. 




41 



TO A SEA-GULL. INLAND 

{Prom the Century Magazine, for March, 190$) 

Companionless, how didst thou thus elude 
Thy brave, storm-battHng brothers, here to 
wing 
Along this river's inland solitude, 
Lone, songless pilgrim, on this day of spring? 

Did warm land scents allure, wave- weary gull ? 
One after one, thy fellows fall from thee 
Till thou didst find the green shores wonderful 
And miss the heavy tossings of the sea? 

Or, storm-bewildered, didst thou hunt for peace 

Up that still inlet that our river fills. 

And fly to find from wave and tide release, 

On toward this mastless harbor 'mong the hills? 

Wild-hearted bird, why cam'st thou, on what quest 
Startle our homely thrushes? Thou canst have 
No solace here ; thy sleep is flight, thy nes't 
The unabiding hollows of the wave. 

Peace is not here ; thy kingdom of the mist 
Lies far beyond thee, voyager, today. 
No lifted wave thy giant wing here hath kissed ; 
And the tall ships thou follow'st — far away! 

42 



Aye, wheel ! it is not here ; aye, turn again !— 
With sleepless eyes now full of mystery, 
E'en as the heart goes back to its old pain, 
Thou must return unto thy native sea! 

So, white-winged wonder of a day, farewell! 
To thy glad fellows of the restless tide 
Fly back again ; there in wild storm and swell, 
In thine old battle doth thy peace abide. 




43 




CLASSIC EPITAPHS 

Strains from the "Corpus Inscriptionum Latinanim.'* 
Vol. IV. No. 1824 

QLiisquis amat, venlat. Veneri volo frangere costas 
fustibus et lumbos debilitare deae : 
si potest ilia mihi tenerum pertundere pectus, 
Quin ego non possim caput iliac frangere f uste ? 

44 



Ho there, you lover, I say! 

You seen old Venus to-day, 

The damned old Goddess of Love? 

She's pierced my joint 

With an arrow's point 

And I'm wild as hell with love. 

I'm loaded and laying for game, 
The Goddess of Love is that same, 
Just wait till she heaves into sight! 
This club's one crash— 
She'll wrestle her hash 
In the borders of hell tonight! 

Feb. 20, 1905 



Vol. VI, No. 18131. 

urn vixi, bibi libenter, bibite vos qui vivitis. 
quod edi bibi, mecum quod reliqui perdidi. 

My name was Bilious Ike, 
I've hiked the dusty pike 

With booze and beers 

For three-score years. 
The same old Bilious Ike. 

45 



At last I've passed my check ; 

No more I'll stack life's deck; 
I lost my game 
When summons came 

Toward Hades' gloom to 'trek.' 

Stay, mourn my thirsty soul ; 
Turn down the flowing bowl, 

For here I lie 

Forever dry 
Save for a passer's dole. 

Bedew, my friend, the ground; 
Bedew this darn old mound ; 
A drop does tell 
When you're in hell 
And feel the flames around. 



46 



Vol. XIII. No. 488 



MHMORiAi, ere;cted by a lady 

QLiam dulcis fuit ista, qiiam benigna, 
quae cum viveret, in sine iacebat 
somni conscia semper et cubilis. 
O factum male, Myia, quod peristi, 
latrares modo, si quis adcubaret 
rivalis dominae, licentiosa. 
O factum male, Myia, quod peristi. 
altum iam tenet insciam sepulcrum, 
nee sevire potes nee insilire, 
nee blandis mihi morsibus renides. 

IN MEMORIAM 

TTow fair wert thou to me, how dear 
■*•■'• thro ugh all life's bitter-sweet, my dear! 
And yet I cannot see thee, love ; 
I cannot clasp thee, bend above 

And kiss thee, as in other days. 
Ah, would that in the dusk of life 
Now left to me, with sorrow rife. 
Thy lips and eyes mine own might meet 
And I might hear thy barking, sweet, 

My poodle, as in other days. 

March 18, 1905 

47 



ANNABELLE 

I must say that you make me tired, 
Oh! Annabelle! 
The nasty way that you expired, 

Annabelle. 
If you had told me when you died, 
I should have said, "A suicide 
ShouW never, never lose her pride, 
Annabelle." 

I know that you were bored with life, 

Annabelle ; 
But why, dear, did j'ou use a knife, 

Annabelle ? 
It made a most unholy mess, 
Completely spoiled that blue voile dress, 
And really caused me much distress, 

Annabelle. 

Sticky puddles on the floor, 

Annabelle ! 
What ta wa&te ! All that good gore, 

Annabelle ! 
Of course your method est plus vite, 
But poison is much more elite ; 
And you had always been so neat, 

Annabelle. 

48 



You're satisfied ? Well, I don't doubt it, 

Annabelle. 
So we shall say no more about it, 

Annabelle. 
But you could never be my bride, 
You were so thoughtless when you died. 
All artistic soul denied! 
Oh, Annabelle! 



THE LOST PHANTOM 

The mist came up and choked the street 
So I could not flee from there; 
For an iron lamp post grinned at me 

And waved its yellow glare. 
A woman sobbed and almost saw 
When I hurried through her hair. 

I could not go the way I came — ' 
That door was bolted fast, 

For those who threw me out of home 
■Set heel against the past ; 

And nought could bring me back to them 
But an angel's rocking blast. 
49 



How could a phantom face the dawn? 

My grey limbs shrank in fright; 
I could not find the way, there was 

So little left of night. 
And terror strangled me — I smelled 

The coming of the light. 

There was no time ! There was no time ! 

Why was I born so late? 
I looked in through a door and saw 

A banquet set in state. 
A fat man sat and thickly smiled 

Before each heaped up plate. 

I drew the breeze in through my heart 
And laughed— no flesh was there! 

My hands were clasped before my face 
But each of them held air. 

Terror stopped my eerie laugh — 
I was not ;an3"wh€re. 

I knew no way ! I knew no way ! 

IvCt loose too near the morn; 
There was no time to find the way. 

I wound about forlorn; 
Wondering at my weariness, 

For I was yet new born. 
50 



I saw the light out through the mist. 

The dawn bloodthirsty broke. 
Too late— I'd lost the way for those 

Whose souls are made of smoke; 
But I was mist, and in my throat 

The misty air did choke. 

I saw my own thin hands dissolve 
And turned me to the wall ; 

The wrathful sun searched out my face; 
There was nought left to fall. 

Now this wailing memory 
Floats — and remembers all. 




A VILLANELLE 

A Villanelle is aprofK>s 

For songs of love and songs of spring, 
And ecstasies of morning glow. 

For roses red and breasts of snow 

And soft white arms that twine and cling, 
A Villanelle is apropos. 

Each word and line is fashioned so, 

Delicate as a wedding ring. 
Or as a maiden's virgin glow. 

Alas ! That poets grosser grow ! — 

For songs that bloom and flowers that wing, 
A Villanelle is apropos. 

I^ve is my theme! The ways I go 

Are April-flowering; so I sing 
Of stars that gleam and eyes that glow. 

And thus my song I fas^hion so. 
No epic, ode, or sonneting; 
A Villanelle is apropos 
For ecstasies of morning glow. 

52 



LOST BUT FOUND 

STORY OF HOW A YOUNG MAN WAS LOST AND 
FOUND IN ROSEVILLE 

Tt was a warm star-lit evening of early spring, 
■■■ the close of one of the brightest, balmiest days 
that ever Nature had smilingly granted to the 
World. It was in a quiet rural suburb of a vast 
and crowded city, where grass and wild flowers 
gaily decorate the roadways, and where in sum- 
mer the treetops bend and form a verdant cause- 
way. But now the brown and spreading branches 
only leaned towards one another to form a bro- 
ken circle like the framework of a vast and lofty 
archway. A yellow flickering gas-lamp sent its 
artificial sunbeams to penetrate the darkness of 
this early springtime eve. 

In this dim illumination, in these lurid rays 
of gaslight, stood an editor or artist with a wor- 
ried, troubled brow. Stood there with a maiden, 
whose bright face and smile betold her of a race 
from Phebe born. Lost amid these winding 

54 



roadways, stood they pondering, wondering 
whither they should turn their footsteps, won- 
dering if they'd lost their happy homes for all. 

Far, far off in this same hamlet, was another 
long-lost wanderer, a child with flaxen ringlets. 
He had wandered in the freightyards of a great 
and noisy railroad, but at last with prayers and 
murmers found the narrow, winding roadway. 
Just at this peculiar moment, the lost artists 
came upon him, and with shouts and acclama- 
tions blessed the hour they left the lamppost. It 
is needless to continue, those concerned will un- 
derstand it. /r^ u n^i \ 

(Freshman Theme) 




55 



THE MASQUERADE 

We come and go in masquerade, 
And pace our measures to and fro; 
And so the dance of life is played. 

A witling like a king arrayed ; 

For in disguise we come and go 
This merry night of masquerade. 

A craven wears the soldier's braid; 

The publican's the priest; — and so 
The comedy of life is played. 

Each dons his garment unafraid; 

The trick is learned, and none may know 
Who walks with whom in masquerade. 

The harlot wins the prince's aid; 

Their eyes with lustful fever glow; — 
And so the pawns of life are played. 

By knave and fool the plot is laid 

While merrily the pipers Wow. 
On with the merry masquerade! 
Until the dance of death is played ! 

56 



THROUGH ORIENTAL EYES 

npiirough the courtesy of Mr. Ito Koshida, of 
■■• the Law Department, Q is enabled 
to publish a curious and interesting let- 
ter by a native Japanese. The writer is Mr. 
Oshiro Iddito, a half-brother of that Gen- 
eral Iddito who is now with Kuroki's 
army in Manchuria, and who is said by Bennett 
Burleigh, the London military expert, to be the 
boldest and most dashing commander that Japan 
has yet produced. Mr. Iddito has been in this 
country three months on business — it is suspected 
that he is in the service of his government — and 
is now returningto his native land. On his way to 
the Coast, he stayed for two days in Ann Arbor 
in order to visit Mr. Koshida, with whose father 
he is connected in business in Japan. While he 
was here, he wrote to a friend in Washington 
the following letter in which he gives his impres- 
sions of Ann Arbor, the University, and student 
life. To explain how the letter came into the 

57 



possession of the editor, it is enough to say that 
Mr. Iddito showed it to Mr. Koshida, who ob- 
tained permission to copy it and also to read it 
discreetly to a few friends, including the editor. 
In Mr. Koshida's opinion, there will be no viola- 
tion of confidence in publishing it in the intimate 
circle of the Quadrangle, with a caution that it 
should go no further. 

As will appear from the letter, Mr. Iddito's 
acquaintance with the English language is not 
always as close as one could wish. But what he 
lacks in grammar and idiom, he perhaps makes 
up in picturesqueness ; and occasionally he com- 
passes a felicity of phrasing that would do credit 
to one who was to the manner born. 

"Ann Arbor, March 12, 1905. 
To my friend Mr. Whittaker 
of British Embassy: 
Sir Mr. Whittaker: 

You say to me, when I shake hand 
to leave Washington, that I write English letter 
to you to learn the English speech very good. 
So I write long letter once this day. I write 

58 



about Ann Arbor, the West Athens. I like write 
about everything here — Law School, Doctor 
School, Engineer School, Forestry School, Gym- 
nasium School, Music School, Cat-cutting, Hair- 
cutting and everything more. But maybe I not 
write too much. So I just say about some few 
things. 

One day, Mr. Koshida — he my cousin — he 
take me to see President Angoll. President 
Angell shake hand and smile over face like the 
sun come up. He very glad to see Japanese. He 
say Japanese Yankees of the East. I say I think 
Americans Japanese of the West. Then Presi- 
dent Angell laugh much, and talk, and first thing 
I know we out in hall and shake hand good-bye. 
I say to Mr. Koshida President Angell just like 
traveling side-walk. Pie move people along while 
they think they stand still. Mr. Koshida say 
President Angell big fine man. Ask me how I 
like him. I say seem to me, President Angell 
great smooth has-been educatist. If he not be 
educatist, then he be first-class what you call hay- 
seed politician. 

By and by we go to Art Gallery, whkh is much 

59 



different from Corcoran Gallery in Washing- 
ton. My cousin say the most of pictures painted 
by a Mr. George, University painter, and artisti- 
cal wall arrangement by Mr. Janitor. By study 
of these pictures and of comical Sunday Buster 
Brown pictures in newspapers and of pictures 
on tomato can, I now begin to know artistical 
mind of America. But Michigan art gallery 
paintings not last long; atmosphere of Great 
Lakes makes decay. Even now my cousin say 
they all rotten. This is sad. 

Attached to below Art Gallery is General Li- 
brary, where books are given away to poor stu- 
dents. Many students at University of Michigan 
make all money by hand work. For instance 
Mr. Librarian is cook for Apostles' Eating Club. 
When Mr. Librarian tires cooking he will to 
makes plaster statues. Some his plasters very 
good, I think, in readers' room up high. 

My cousin like me hear Professor Wenley. 
He say Professor Wenley talk like devil. We go 
hence to big class-room, where much men and 
women. Professor Wenley what you call spell- 
binder. Sometime I don't know whether he talk 

60 



or swear. Some of the students write while he 
speech, some draw pictures. One draw picture 
of me. Very good. He show it to by-side stu- 
dent who look at me. Then he write under it, 
"The man that cut Kuropatkin's hair," and pass 
it all around. Mr. Koshida get it and keep it for 
me. He say this is specimen of great American 
joke. Pretty soon clock strike and everybody 
rush out like going to a fire. 

My cousin tell me about Quadrangle Club. He 
say Quadrangle mean square. He think name 
come from Mr. Roosevelt's square deal. All 
most top-heavy students belong to Quadrangle. 
They meet some evening over saloon and play 
piano and eat breakfast food. I hear piano when 
I go by, nine ten o'clock last night. Mr. Koshida 
say he pretty much like to join Quadrangle Club, 
but he not in good condition after examination. 

You ask me whether if I thinic Ann Arbor 
student get fine education. I don't know. I 
don't see him being educate! I see him cut hair, 
I see him wait on bull-dog, I see him run race in 
Gymnasium, I see him hear talk in lecture-room. 
But I don't see him being educate. Being edu- 

6i 



cate is two things : First it is knowing to smile 
and shake hand and talk pleasant with every- 
body, and second it is to think big wise thoughts 
about world and God and families. No, I don't 
know whether if xA.nn x\rbor student being edu- 
cate, but I guess so. 

Ann Arbor is fine, grand place but I voluntary 
leave her. You know why? It is that tonight I 
see big top-lines in newspaper: "Mukden is cap- 
tured. Oyama wins great victory. Tokio cele- 
brates." My friend, when I read these words, I 
like to burst. I cry like child. In my bowels is 
hot burning flame. Voices in my insides cry 
Banzai! Banzai! I want to sing aloud like Yan- 
kee: "My country 'tis of Thee, Sweet land of 
hot time in the Old Town." I can not stay here 
more long time. Tonight I take train for Chi- 
cago, the cave of winds. Next week I sail for 
my orient country. Goodbye, my dear Sir Mr. 
Whittaker, and with kindest disregards and 
complimentaries to Mrs. Whittaker, I stay 

Yours very severely, 

Oshiro Iddito." 



62 



T 



A BALLAD ON A BORROWED NAME 

he merry music now is still, 
The merry dance has passed away, 
The night enrobes the plain and hill; 
We, for an hour, may rest from play: 
That thou art tired thy closed eyes say, 
Thy slight form stretched at weary ease, 
The posture, and the head you lay 
On the curved arm, all say, Felis«. 

Nay, I will sit beside you here 
And muse and dream an hour or twain; 
Sleep, if you will, awhile, my dear. 
That you may laugh and sing again 
As merry as you late have been, 
Rest idly now as you may please, 
Forget light pleasure and slight pain; 
I watch and dream this hour, Felise. 

65 



This is the dream that haunts mine eyes, 
A thousand shapes, fantastically 
Wrapped in thy gauzy draperies, 
Do flit before me silently, 
In all thy dainty face I see, 
In forms born of old histories 
Such as I read ere I read thee, 
Fairest of all white tomes, Felise. 

Art thou akin to those, alas, 
Those passed and passed forever by, 
Those who are silent 'neath the grass, 
The long, clean grass, and the clear sky, 
Who from the web of history 
Gleam star-like, and were all of these 
Like unto you ere they did die, 
And shall you die as they, Felise? 

Even now art thou not, like them, dead, 
Though golden-fair you still remain? 
Yea, all the glitter of thy head 
Is it not rusted with the rain. 
Like theirs who 'neath the grass are lain? 
Those still soft drops that never cease 
Have touched you gently without pain. 
Even as those, my fair Felise. 



Why ask you queries such as this? 

What canst thou tell so long ago? 

Of these I ask but one long kiss, 

And question wind and rain and snow. 

From them I all the truth may know, 

Since from the tall, straight, green-robed trees 

And the soft grass they sleep below 

They sigh forth to the air, Felise. 

From farthest reaches of dead time 
Behold the vague Semiramis, 
In her 'hot, level Asian clime 
She reared strange gardens for her bliss, 
High mountain bowers where she might kiss. 
Would you have sought those floating trees 
And trod the same red pass amiss 
If you had worn her crown, FeHse? 

And Argive Helen, too, behold. 
Did she, indeed, resemble you? 
Had she the same soft hair of gold, 
The same large wondering eyes of blue? 
Did she, too, swear to aye be true 
When Paris bore her o'er the seas? 
And did she change his love for new 
Fres'h faces once in Troy, Felise? 

67 



Or she, the Lesbian singer wild, 

So strange, so passionate, so free, 

Who loved and danced and sang and smiled 

And plunged her madly in the sea 

To soothe an outraged vanity, 

Since he whom she had sought to please 

Could sail away forgetfully. 

Would 3^ou have made the plunge, Felise? 

And she in w^hom Egyptian flame 

Burned in Greek beauty, the strange queen 

Who rendered haughty Caesar tame 

Wh€n only for a moment seen. 

And when his little hour had been 

Found yet another king to please, 

And led him through dark ways of tlhrene. 

Would you have led him thus, Felise? 

Or she who sailing to her king 
Did love Sir Tristram on the way 
And all restraint aside did fling, 
As you have flung aside today. 
Was her love only idle play, 
Like yours or like the rest of these. 
Was her sad story as men say, 
Or was it like to yours, Felice ? 

68 



Or she, who, lord of England's king, 
After long years of loving sway, 
Stole from his stiffening hand the ring 
And from his death-bed fled away. 
No doubt she soon did laugh as gay 
As ever, after his demise, 
With some young squire, and he was gray, 
Both gray and old, my light Felise. 

Or she who wantoned on a throne, 
The lustful, beauteous Catherine, 
Regardless of the dying moan 
Of who had late 'her husband been. 
No doubt her skin had satin's sheen. 
Her eyes had amorous witcheries, 
The foul, fair, masterful great queen ; 
You have her love, at least, Felise. 

Or she who borne to Paris gay 
To child the lord of Europe's might 
And mix the aged Hapsburg's gray 
With this new house's gleaming white. 
iShe, the world-conquerer's delight, 
Did soon from weeping for him cease 
And soothed her with a soldier wight, 
As you had soothed yourself, Felise? 

69 



Were all of these as white and fair, 

Had they the same brig'ht, dancing eyes? 

Had they the same clear throat and "hair, 

Did they look up with quick surprise, 

Did they too whisper low replies, 

Had they the same swift ways to please, 

The same light, filmy draperies 

With haunting, sweet perfume, Felise? 

Ay, and the soul, was that the same. 

So filled with easy gaiety, 

So light, so slight, bereft of shame. 

Delighting in light mimicry. 

From thought and care and pain so free, 

Desiring only golden ease, 

Indifferent, filled with cruelty. 

Were they indeed like you, Felise ? 

Alas, for th-ey did work dark woe 
To all who loved or trusted — these 
Were cold and frail who sleep below. 
And art thou not the same, Felise? 

January 4, 1905 



79 



IMPRESSIONS ON AN AUTUMN DAY 

FEEI.ING. 

Tp eeking with smoke and river fogs, 

•■^ Smudged with the ashes of leaves, 

Heaving with breatli of a somber life 

That rejoices not nor grieves, 

Burly and brown and soothing warm, 

Bared to my breast that's bare. 

Is the mighty chest of the Autumn day 

And love is there. 

PHILOSOPHY. 

An Autumn idler I sit and watch the mill-race, 

A sheet of bronze hued with age and corrosion, 

Antiqued with mottled fresh and quaking colors, 

Ripple blended, 

Hues of willows. 

Greens and yellows. 

Ever varied, ever flowing, — 

My eternity. 

A loose pile-timber sways to and fro in the stream. 

Through hues of bronze, lost in the mighty rhythm, 

Attuned to ceaseless deep and silent currents, 

Scarcely anchored, 

Still persisting, 

Back and forth, 

Ever swaying, sometime loosening, — 

I myself. 

71 



EXTRACTS FROM THE ANNOUNCEMENT 

SEMITICS AND HELLENISTIC GREEK 

a. Hebrew, Yiddish. 

b. Syrian, Ass-syrian, Accadian, Sumerian, 
and Siberian. 

c. Arabic, Gum-arabic, Street-arabic. 

d. Aramaic, Syriac, Ethiopic, Alabamese. 

e. Hellenistic Greek. 

a. New Testament. 

b. Septuagint, Josephus. 

f. Lectures on Semitic H^istory and Litera- 
ture. 

nnhe courses are intended for: (i) Students of 
•■' elocution and oratory; (2) Students of 
household economics and personal hygiene (See 
courses in Yiddish, Sociology, Bacteriology and 
Leviticus) ; (3) Students who wish to prepare 
for the more advanced work of the Unit'ersity 
Bible Chairs under Professor Kohler; or (4) 
The University Barber Chairs under Professor 

73 



Trojanowski; (5) Students of American His- 
tory; (6) Students of Art who are preparing for 
advanced work under Professor Allen; (7) Old 
ladies who have nothing to do in the afternoon; 
(8) All students not including above ; (9) Girls ; 
(10) Athletes. 

Consultation and enrollment: Sept. 25-29, 4 
A. M. to 10 P. M., Room 2, T. H. The line forms 
early the preceding evening. Place tickets are 
given out every two hours. 

Hebrew. 

The courses in Hebrew are not definitely out- 
lined owing to the diverse needs of students pre- 
senting themselves for the work, and the bound- 
less area over which the Semitic mind must can- 
ter daily to keep itself in condition. Every 
course is guaranteed to begin, and ultimately to 
draw to a close also. We give what credit we 
can. Red and green trading stamps at the 
close of each period. In general the range of the 
courses may be summed up as follows : 

1. Autobiography of Professor Craig. 

2. Short biographies of teachers, preachers 

74 



and lecturers I have known, with a characteri- 
zation of their worlc, and an excursus on the 
futility of human effort. See Course i. 

3. Me, Delitzsch, and Wenley, with a dis- 
cussion of the Uebermensch. The class are 
asked to read Craig's ''Hope of the Future" and 
"Slayers of the Prophets." 

4. Characterization of Mr. Kohler. Ladies 
are not admitted to this lecture. See Course i. 

5. The Sunday-school as an institution. Pri- 
vatissime und unentgeltlich. See Course i. 

6. Things in general. See Course i. 

7. Semitic genius. See Course i above. 

8. The Hebrew alphabet (if time permits). 
See Course i. 

9. Readings in Hebrew by Professor Craig. 
See Course i. 

10. Profits of Israel. See Course i. 

11. The Book of Job, with a discussion of 
the problems of suffering. See Course i. 
Haupt's polychrome edition and Hearst's Chi- 
cago American. 

12. Yiddish. New York dialects. 

13. Review of Course i. 

75 



Syrian, Ass-syrian, Accadian, Sumerian, and 
Siberian are on draught at all times. In the study 
of Accadian special attention is given to traces 
of the dialect in Milton's Bvangeline. 

Arabic. 

The introductory works in this department is 
coextensive with Courses i, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, of 
the department of Hebrew ; no advanced work 
is given until proof has been furnished that this 
preliminary work has been thoroughly mastered. 
Attention is called to the services in Gum-arabic, 
with a consideration of infantile and senile 
phonetics. 

Aramaic, Syriac, Bthiopic, Alabamese, are of- 
fered, with lectures on the folk lore and music of 
the South. Seminar in comparative rag-time 
motifs. 

Semitic History and Literature. 

Students may begin or end with any of these 
courses. Inasmuch as attendants upon these lec- 
tures are generally not students of Hebrew, 
Courses 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 of that department 
will be given succinctly as a preparation. 

76 



1. The beginning of History. See courses 
offered by Prof. Allen in the Art Museum daily 
2-4. Ample illustrative material will be 
furnished by means of 200 lantern views, 200 
stereoptican views, 200 biograph views, 200 pro- 
jections, 200 kinetoscope views, besides numer- 
ous stereoscope, stethoscope and pantograph 
views. 

2. History of Israel and Judah from the Con- 
quest to the Fall of the Northern Kingdom under 
vSorgum H, 722 B. C. If desired the general 
introduction above will be repeated, 

3. Religion of the Semites. General study 
of Semitic religion with special emphasis upon 
the religion of the Hebrews. General introduc- 
tion repeated. 

4. Study of the Hexateuch. The object of 
this course is to set forth the conclusions of my- 
self and other modern and scientific investigators 
(See courses on Me and Delitzsch, Heb. 3). 
Members of the class will be furnished with a 
complete analysis of the books by means of whicli 
they will be unable to read the original docu- 

71 



ments continuously, and criticise the analysis 
for themselves. The legal co-eds will be compar- 
ed with that of Ham-u-rabbi. 

Hellenistic Greek. 

Although the Department does not wish to dis- 
courage prospective students, it feels impelled 
to emphasize the utter worthlessness of instruc- 
tion in Greek as offered in this country. Those 
who find themselves unable to realize their be- 
ings in the Greek department will find here a 
haven of Rest. 




<^ 



t^uli^^J Al 



<j^ 



78 



THE SEGREGATED MAN 

rp o learn what life and living is, 
•■• To peer into its mysteries, 
To take the plunge, a boy, and then, 
Clear-eyed, a man, come up again, 
Is what, I take it, college means, 
Not barriers of prudish screens. 
So I should like, at Michigan, 
To be a segregated man. 

We all have sisters, and we know 

In worldly wisdom they're not slow; 

So that with them to spread thought's wings 

And skim the anaemic crust of things, 

While underneath the meat lies thick, 

Seems flat, however politic. 

And yet, I sorely question whether 

We ought to break the crust together. 

In just one course to have a chance 
To really know the Renaissance. 
When I'm translating very well 
Not have to stumble over "Hell." 

8i 



Nor hear Co-eds, in tones of ice, 
Protest, "Are Shakespeare's sonnets nice?" 
But speak straight out what thing seems best, 
Not leave my thought to be half-guessed. 

I've sometimes thought a medic class 

Had most in it to embarrass, 

And yet the Laws are made discuss 

Things ladies do not talk wtih us. 

What beats them all, I'm very sure, 

Is fr^kly handling literature. 

Just one school has clear moral steering, 

And girls don't study engineering. 

I'll grant they throw us in the shade 
With bookish lessons "ready-made," 
And have us far to rearward backed 
In seizing on the obvious fact. 
I'll grant them more if they'll take hence 
Their enervating influence. 
I want, while here at Michigan, 
To be a segregated man. 



82 



A BALLAD OF UNBIDDEN GUESTS 

The wine flows freely in the hall 
And merry jests leap to and fro, 
Joy holds within her festival 

The while without sweep wind and snow. 
Within none hears the wind's wiM call, 

Nor how it moans in dull distress. 
Save those two guests unseen by all, 
Those two thin ghosts all bodiless. 

With faces paler than wan white 

And forms more shadowy than the mist, 
Transparent in the lamp's clear light. 

They, furtive, at the feast assist. 
Their eyes like coals of fire burn bright 

With passion they may not repress, 
The eyes alone have life and sight, 

The pale, wan ghosts are bodiless. 

In vain they stretch a hand to seize 
The rosy wine-cup brimming high, 

The guest feels only some slight breeze 
Straying amid the revelry. 

83 



Their voice sounds as the swaying trees 
And no one notes its plaintiveness, 

Half felt, half heard, j^et no one sees 
These pallid ghosts all bodiless. 

And one sighed softly to his mate : 

"Alas, for us what doth remain? 
''Here, longing vainly, must we wait 

''The whole long, weary night in pain. 
"Alas, how did I love gay state 

"When I was clad in fleshly dress, 
"How gay I drank, and now harsh fate 

"Commands I watch, all bodiless. 

"Still do I snuff the scent of wine, 

"Still with hot, eager thirst stretch hand. 
"Ah, nevermore may throat of mine 

"Moisten its cihoking waste of sand. 
"Around me here the bright lamps shine 

"And jests on one another press. 
"I, fettered by the days long syne, 

"Stand smileless, thirsting, bodiless." 

"Yea," said the other, "So with me; 

"I, too, loved song and wine and dance, 
"I followed love and revelry 

"And learned the lessons light of France. 

84 



"Now do I hover wretchedly 

"Above this scene of joyousness, 

"Debarred from wme and love and glee, 
"Desirous, eager — bodiless. 

"And when the revel dies away 

"I hover near some lady fair, 
"Such as I loved once, in the day 

"When I too breathed the perfumed air. 
"Oh, for one hour of those old, gay 

"And sinful hours, Oh bleak distress, 
"Beside her couch to watch and stay, 

"To see her and be bodiless." 

"Is this God's justice?" sighed the first, 

"Nay, cruel vengeance in good truth. 
"If we ill thoughts and passions nursed 

"In those old days of laughing youth, 
"Are we not well repaid, thus cursed 

"With all the fire of youth fulness, 
"With all the drunkard's strangling thirst, 

"Yet wan, pale mist, all bodiless? 
"Ah revelers ! revel well your hour, 

"Full soon shall ye put off this dress 
"And be as we, bereft of power, 

" 'Mid wine and beauty bodiless !" 

Jan. 9, 1905 

8.:; 



AT PARTING 

Do you wonder, Little Brother, 
Why the shadows touch each other 
And the night mists creep asunder 
For the passing of the moon? 
Why the breezes weep and murmur 
That the night has come too soon? 

Will you weep too, Little Brother, 
If we pass from one another, 
Like the night mists rent asunder 

For the shadows of the moon? 
Will you sit so still and wonder 

Why the night has come so soon, 
Little Brother? 



86 



HERODIAS 

QJoftly the mother spoke, 
^ Her lips close to her daughter's ear, 
Her voice so slow it scarce the silence broke, 
Lest through the curtains he might hear: 
"He will not" — so the mother whispered low, 
"He will not slay him tho he is my foe; 
It is for thee to cure thy mother's woe 
Dance thou for him and let my hate appear." 

"Slay him !" she hissed the word, 

'^Slay him with thy quick-moving feet, 

Slay him !" — so low that it was scarcely 'heard — 

"Slay him with tinkling music sweet, 

Oh, ease my bosom of the fear and pain 

His jibes have planted in it" — and again 

Her voice sank down — "Slay lest we both be slain, 

I fear his tongue, he may speak things unmeet." 

The curtains fell apart, 

And Herod on his throne beheld 

The graceful girl, the treasure of his heart; 

And at her timid smile there welled 

87 



Deep tenderness within the stern king's breast; 
And gently he the tender maid caressed. 
A moment on his brows her lips were pressed, 
Then through the room the silver harp notes 
swelled. 

Lightly she sprang away, 

Throwing upon him one long glance 

Wherein ^a soft and liquid pleading lay; 

Then slowly she began to dance. 

Winding her filmy robes about her there, 

Close round her body, straight and lithe and fair, 

Stretching toward him her white arms, gemmed and 

bare, 
Swaying did she retreat and then advance. 

Suddenly she shook free 

The silver robes that clung to her. 

And moved in clouds of guazy drapery; 

With freer motion, less demure 

She swayed her, billowing the silvery cloud, 

Bending her head, shaking the tresses proud 

That glooming fell about her, and aloud 

She sang a strange wild sweet song his heart to stir. 

Soft came the words and now 

Softer the harp's clear throbbing fell ; 

And whiter gleamed the clear, wide girlish brow. 



The long white throat, the bosom's swell 
He saw amid the whirling mist of white, 
And her long rippling locks darker than night, 
Gazing he caught his breath with sliarp delight, 
While her voice lured him like a silver bell. 

Then from her robes there stole 

A subtle perfume, dim and sweet, 

And all his heart was shaken and his soul 

Bowed to the spell of her light feet, 

And when that voice so soft and sweet and low 

Fell on his ear and wooed him, he could know 

Scarce what she said but as her hand moved, so 

He moved his own ; and all was thus complete. 



Sg 



AD PROSERPINAM 

(Moribundus loquitur). 

Can this be death, thou Goddess feared of man 
whose noiseless gliding into life's glad ways 
Makes dark and laughterless the end of days 
That with low laughter and with love began ? 

Men say thy shadow brings but mortal pain 

To lengthen all the fevered prayer for life; 
As if to breast the turmoil, toil and strife 

Were sweeter than thy sleep, and better gain ! 

But like the rest of waves and hush of leaves 
When all the stirring of the wind is stilled 
So is thy sleep, and so thy coming, filled 

With cease of sorrow for the soul that grieves. 

My eyes are heavy with thy dreamless sleep 
More heavy than to see m}' darkling way 
That leads beyond the twilight of the day 

Into thy darkness* kind and vasty deep. 

^0 



For me no dawn shall follow eventide 
Nor ever shall I see the purpling morn 
Nor hear the litany by birds upborne 

Nor breathe faint fragrance from the meadows wide. 

My days and dreams are done. To me life's wine 
Love's laughter and warm tears are weary grown 
And weary all the dirge of human morn 

But sweet thy endless sleep, O Proserpine. 




/3UC 



91 



THE HOUSE 

T wonder if he hears the rain 

■■■ That ripples on the window pane; 

I wonder if he hears it now, 

The rain he loved to hear. 

His roof is softly laid with moss; 
His dwelling four sheer walls across; 
If sun nor sound endears it now, 
How can the house be dear? 

Now presently eadi field of dun 
Shall be emblazoned by the sun; 
And each green field a ream of spring 
To write blue violets in. 

His dwelling place hath porch nor door, 
Nor rushes strewn upon the floor; 
Yet should he chance to dream of spring, 
How may he bide within? 



92 




THE AUTHOR 01^ 'XoYB" 

"LOVE" 

Love fills the heart with noble impulses, and 
resolves to spend a lifetime in efforts to benefit 
and bless humanity; puts blessings in the heart 
to give for cursings ; it fills the heart with a will- 
ingness to do, to labor for those who are strang- 
ers, and misunderstand, even persecuted. Yes, 
Love is Love, and nothing else. Love is nothing 
less than God, and dwells in the human heart, its 
throne and scepter. Ah! Love is All, my All. 
G. Ralph Weston, M. D. 

Editor of "It." 



DE GUSTIBUS 

R^INE SCHWEINEREI 

"VTon alien Leuten, grob imd fein — 
^ Vornehmen Herrn und Kerls gemein- 
Bewiesen soil das Sprichtwort sein : 
Dem wahren Schwein ist alles Schwein. 

Und gleichfalls, nach dem Augensohein, 
Kann auch vielleicht behauptet sein 
Die 'Meinung ziemlich allgemein 
Dem Reinen ist ja alles rein. 

Worauf ich sage: Kinder, nein! 
Das alte Sprichwort ist nur Schein; 
Ein anderes aber lass ich ein : 
Dem Reinen ist fast alles Schwein. 

Und umgekehrt scheint wahr zu sein 
Das Corolarium — ich mein 
Das Gegenteil davon : Allein 
Dem echten Schwein is alles rein. 

95 



FAIR IS FOUL AND FOUI, IS FAIR 

To all good people, rich or poor, 
Aristocrat or silly boor, 
This proverb seems both tried and sure 
Unto the swine all is manure. 

And just as clear (they think) is seen, 
By all who look with vision keen, 
Another ancient saw — I mean, 
Unto the clean all things are clean. 

Not so, say I, and likewise. Tut! 
Why run your proverbs in a rut? 
Just stow this saying in your nut: 
Unto the pure all things are smut. 

And if the logic we complete, 
And put the converse on its feet, 
We draw this corollary neat: 
Unto the swine all smells are sweet. 



96 



INTERCOLLEGIATE POETICS 

Gentlemen of the Quadrangle: — 

A ware as I am of your intellectual tenacity, 
-^^ and conscious of your ability to pen- 
etrate the arcana of University life, I 
am taking the liberty to report to you 
certain most mysterious and incomxprehensi- 
sible accidents that took place recently in 
my experience. On the evening of February 21, 
while strolling with a friend by a large rooming 
house near the campus I was startled by a most 
unusual commotion. Successive shouts of appro- 
bation and groans of regret issued seemingly 
from the upper story' of the house, and as my 
friend and I were both acquainted with a gentle- 
man rooming there, we made bold to enter that 
we might discover, if possible, the cause of the 
excitement. Stumbling up the dark, rickety 
stairs and groping our way through the narrow 
hall, we came to an enormous front room, which, 
as v/e opened the door, was befogged with tobac- 
co smoke. When we finally accustomed our- 
selves to the dusk we saw that the room was 

98 



filled with a rabble of men in various stages of 
negligee. Some sitting, some standing, they 
formed a sort of human amphitheatre around 
some object in the center, which they all watched 
intently. Those in the back row were standing 
on chairs and perching on the tops of bookcases 
in a most precarious manner. 

With a natural curiosity for things unnatural, 
we elbowed our way through the crowd till we 
could see sitting at the table a little man with his 
coat off and his hair disheveled, working labor- 
iously upon a manuscript before him. Surely, 
thought we, this must be some momentous doc- 
ument that was being composed. We watched 
his nervous actions with much interest. He 
chewed the end of his pen thoughtfully and the 
crowd seemed to stop breathing in suspense. He 
ran his fingers through his long hair and working 
himself into a great fury wrote two or three 
lines on the paper before him, whereupon the 
motley audience burst into peal after peal of 
enthusiastic shouts. A dapper, sinuous man in 
a blue sweater-vest, who up to this time had been 
sitting on the dresser top, jumped up among 

99 



the combs and hair-brushes and led the excit- 
ed mob in a rousing "U. of M." Then the 
noise ceased and all eyes turned again to the 
ink-bespattered hero at the table. He heaved a 
deep sigh of despondency and crossed out one 
of the lines he had just written. A murmur of 
dissent passed over the onlookers and in a far 
corner, at first hardly audible but gradually in- 
creasing in volume until it rattled the shaky old 
house, came the intensely uttered words, "Hold 
'em! Hold 'em! 'Varsity." Not a movement of 
the fidgiting scribe escaped the keen gaze of the 
enthusiasts. He loaded his pipe and they sighed. 
He looked up a word in the dictionary and they 
nudged each other significantly, and once when 
he stopped to fill his fountain pen I thought they 
would devour him with their looks of disap- 
proval. 

I waited for an opportunity to find some 
clue to these strange actions, but as none 
seemed to offer itself I nudged the squinty-eyed 
man in blue pajamas near me and asked what 
the gentleman at the table could be doing that he 
should attract so much attention. The squinty 

100 



eyes squinted closer in an ironical smile at my 
confessed ignorance and the possessor without 
interrupting his gaze at the bescrawled manu- 
script answered with contempt that it was Casey 
the poet. 

My friend and I felt decidedly out of place in 
this environment and learning that our presence 
might arouse here a state of mind which would 
threaten our physical welfare, we made our es- 
cape. 

I ask you, Gentlemen of the Quadrangle, what 
is the meaning of this? 

Sincerely, 

John L. Utopia. 



lOI 




A BOOK-TAKING 

(AFTER SWINBURNE). 



T et us steal hence, O books. Pa will not hear. 

Let us steal hence together without fear. 
Keep quiet now, bulge not too gapingly, 
You precious volumes, dearer than all things dear. 
Pa must not know it (yet danger's small, you see) 
Yea, though we roared like lions in his ear, 
He would not hear. 

102 



Let us go rent a cart; Pa would not know. 
Let us go boldly as the great Profs go, 
Lugging our naughty burdens. Who is there 
To say 'tis wrong to thirst for knowledge, so 
That life becomes as bitter as a tear 
For those who've not the nerve we dare to show? 
Pa doesn't know ! 

Let us load up and hike; no one will weep, 
Though some will swear, I doubt not. Only keep 
A solemn professional gaze on you, and mind 
None of the tell-tale bulky volumes peep 
Between your coat-tails. So done you'll find 
None but clear sailing. (For Pa's half asleep.) 
No one will weep ! 

Let us steal hence, steal hence : Pa wouldn't care ? — 
Don't you believe it! I tell you the air 
Would be real dense with epithets and things 
More dense than epithets, were Pa aware 
Of what is passing. Say, wouldn't the slings 
And arrows of outrageous fortune tear ! 
Pa wouldn't care? 



103 



A HOOSIER UTOPIA 

nnhe next time I see a faculty man in distress 
■■- because this cruelly commercial world values 
dollars more than culture, I shall straightway 
pack him off to New Harmony, Indiana, with a 
letter for Joel W. Hiatt. The name is prepos- 
sessing — New Harmony; nor does it belie its 
tidings. The place is the abode of gentility; a 
culture is evident there, born of a past genera- 
tion of able minds, fostered by a reverent regard 
for the past, and stimulated now by broader pres- 
ent means of education than most villages of 
thirty-five hundred souls possess. But to that 
gradually. 

Van Tyne and I caught sight of New Har- 
mony after a dispiriting day's paddle on the lower 
Wabash. There had been little to interest us all 
day. Hour after hour we had swung around 
broad bends, with a sand bar now on our right 
and now on our left. The river was so broad 

104 



that we felt lonesome in mid-stream, but there 
was nothing to see shoreward but eight-foot 
banks of sand with a dead level of corn-covered 
earth beyond the occasional thin skirting of trees. 
A typical southern river-bottom it was, for the 
Wabash was within twenty miles of the Ohio, 
and twisting so tortuously that it seemed in little 
hurry to get to the sea. This monotony of river 
and land had left its mark on the people; what 
few human beings we had seen were lanky, 
anaemic bottom farmers of Egypt, or the even 
more degenerate-looking pearl-hunters, lingering 
here after their more energetic fellows had 
moved upstream to the richer fisheries. 

We VN^ere disappointed when we drew the bow 
of the Albatross ashore near the ferry landing 
that spelled New Harmony. For days we had 
been looking forward to our arrival, expecting 
great things of the historic place. All the way I 
had been gathering bits of information about 
George Rapp and the faithful German fanatics 
who every night expected to hear the sound of 
Gabriel's trumpet before morning; and about 
Robert Owen, who bought the Rappite property 

105 



as a site on which to work out his theory of 
environment as the sole molding force of char- 
acter, and retired to England with a broken heart 
because the inherited wolfish traits of some of 
his followers ruined his colony. Somehow, the 
dreariness of the entire day, coupled with the 
unprepossessing look of the shore at the ferry 
landing, had put us both into a decidedly pessi- 
mistic frame of mind. 

We had had no mail for two weeks, so we 
steered straight for the postoffice. Our inquiries 
met with cordial replies as we found our way 
through the old town, walking imder spreading 
trees and between rows of houses, large, com- 
fortable, and ancient, a welcome change from 
the shanties of the bottom dwellers. 

But the people themselves were the chief 
charm. A rich land, a proud history of interest 
to the world, had these folk of New Harmony to 
boast of ; and be it said to their credit they did 
boast of it right well. The little postmaster, 
wearing a Grand Army button, observed that it 
was a "right smart place" for travelers, with a 
''heap to see." But his curiosity was well-bred, 

io6 






and even the crowd of loafers on the corners 
scanned us with friendly gaze as we wandered 
past the straggling two blocks devoted to busi- 
ness. 

A pleasant young fellow who saw through our 
disguises, and promptly hailed us as fellow col- 
legians (he came from De Pauw), offered to 
show us the way to a restaurant. On the way 
there I took occasion to tell of my companion's 
status in this great University, voicing the word 
"Professor" slowly and with effect. Professor, 
ah, he had heard of us ; the local newspaper had 
chronicled our journey down the river. He 
wouldn't have believed it from our looks ; but 
since we admitted it that was enough. Thus did 
the great arrive in New Harmony unheralded, 
and, although we were shabbier than the run of 
great men. New Harmony kindly took our word 
for it. We slept in our canoe tent that night, 
the last time we were to enjoy that luxury for 
two weeks. We awoke ten hours later to find 
ourselves famous. 

Our Freshman friend from De Pauw came 
down to the river for us, not long after the sun 

107 



had risen. He had escorted us to our palace of 
canvas the night before, and here he was ready 
to giiide us to a New Harmony breakfast. 
Doubtless he had enjoyed seeing a professor, a 
writer of books, wash his face in a muddy river, 
Doubtless, too, the romance in his young blood 
lent to our picturesquely attired persons all the 
glamour of a "Prince and Pauper" tale. 

With many apologies he led us to the "Ideal" 
hotel, where for one dollar a day you might eat 
of the fat of Posey county and lie between really 
clean sheets at night. After sleeping in your 
clothes for a week, and eking out an existence 
on a diet of National Biscuit Co. products, in- 
terspersed with frequent unmentionable meals in 
Egypt, this was paradise enow. We fairly bur- 
ied ourselves in juicy watermelon, regardless of 
results, much to the approval of Colonel Dickens, 
of "Henderson, Kaintucky, sah", who ruled the 
table as truly as any autocrat. The Colonel, who 
had behind him the best blood in Kentucky, as 
we were afterwards informed, had been reduced 
to buying grain and hay from Posey County 
farmers. But he had plenty of time, it seemed, 

io8 



to help out all the young fellows in their business 
deals and likewise leisure to find us a good guide 
for our investigation into New Harmony anti- 
quities. 

The guide was no less a person than Joel W. 
Hiatt. To you this name may not mean much ; 
in New Harmony it is synonymous with omni- 
science. He is a living encyclopedia on all 
points relating to New Harmony, past, present 
and future; to him the villagers refer all recon- 
dite questions, knowing they will not be disap- 
pointed. He occupies the honorable position of 
corporation park commissioner, a post that takes 
little time, since the New^ Harmony park system 
is in its infancy. He used to be village school 
teacher, and all the young men and women in 
the town love him as a father. Since he is a 
Bachelor of Arts from Wabash College, editor 
of some of the Owen letters, and married to the 
granddaughter of Robert Owen, the fair name 
of his village is safe in his hands. But more ; he 
is a man with a character as sweet and clear as 
spring water, a love of learning deep as the sea, 
an orator with all William Jennings Bryan's 

109 



flow of language and breadth of gesture. Strange 
to say, he is almost the exact double of the Ne- 
braskan in appearance. There is the same gen- 
erous physique, the same high forehead, strong 
nose and mouth. His chin is a trifle looser than 
the same feature in the Bryan face; one man is 
in the public eye, the other is only the oracle of 
New Harmony. 

We met Joel on the street corner just after we 
had occupied part of a German tailor's trousers 
while he strove to make our own approach re- 
spectability. Van Tyne had indulged in a shave, 
a shirt, and a clean collar, while I stuck to my 
tawny flannel shirt, preferring to sail under no 
false colors. When I mentioned this to the tony 
Van T3^ne he informed me coldly that a Profes- 
sor is the victim of his position, and must needs 
carry it ofi: gracefully. As for me, I was not even 
sure of a degree, so I contented myself with try- 
ing to get the river mud off my green canvas 
shoes that had once been black. Failing in that, 
I went out on the street, and came face to face 
with Colonel Dickens, just telling Mr. Hiatt of 
our arrival. 

no 



I spent ten minutes, more or less, explaining 
to the kind-faced old man our mission on the 
river, whence we came, and whither we were 
going, ending with a eulogy on my companion 
which must have been eloquent since the effect 
was so wonderful. 

A man of letters and an historian: Ah, it was 
a great day for Joel W., and New Harmony; I 
could see this in his eye as I told of Van Tyne's 
accomplishments. And I? I quailed at the an- 
swer ; it was such a drop from professor to stu- 
dent. I told the truth, and from that hour be- 
came a mere tag to my companion's greatness. 

So we saw New Harmony, and met the pride 
of New Harmony folk, under the careful guid- 
ance of Joel W. Hiatt. He was proud of our 
company ; we could tell that from the unctuous- 
ness of his tone as he introduced "Professor 
Van Tyne of the University of Michigan, sir,'^ 
with a sweep of the hand that seemed to sum- 
mon all living things of the earth to wonder and 
adore. When we saw that he had real pride in 
our company, we lost the dismay caused by rags 
and tatters. We walked on the heads of our 

III 



wretched canvas shoes. We took New Harmony 
to our hearts, since we were no longer outcasts. 

In the course of our walks that day our mentor 
gave us bit by bit the history of New Harmony ; 
he knew the old life so well that it seemed his 
own. With him we went through the old Rap- 
pite lodging house, where the men and women 
slept on separate floors, though there are cases on 
record where certain of the brothers lost count 
of the stairs. We saw the old burying ground of 
the Rappites, and the meeting house, bearing the 
date 1817. W^e scanned the miracle stone, bear- 
ing the footprint of Gabriel, as George Rapp is 
reported to have told his flock when they began 
to murmur against his leadership. 

This stone, which many New Harmony dwell- 
ers take to be substantial evidence of the Lord's 
good-will toward the village, rests in the yard 
of the Owen homestead. This is a beautiful 
white brick mansion, one story high, but broad 
in its proportions, and resting delightfully on a 
broad green lawn. In one corner of the yard is 
a monument erected to some of the famous sci- 
entists who came over with Robert Owen, in the 

112 



"boat-load of knowledge" — Thomas Say, still 
one of America's noted naturalists, William Mc- 
Clure, economist and socialist. But the old house 
is no longer Owen property; it has passed into 
the possession of the Corbins, the moneyed peo- 
ple of the town. Back of the old Owen house, 
still live some of the Owens, in a charming 
dwelling of yellow brick with black facing, built 
by David Dale Owen, when that worthy was 
United States geologist. For years it served as 
the headquarters for the National Geological 
Survey, before the government considered itself 
w^ealthy enough to erect one at Washington. 

The days of David Dale Owen, national geo- 
logist, and his brother, Robert Dale Owen, states- 
man, author, and the man whose letter inspired 
Ivincoln to free the slaves as a war measure — 
those were the days of New Harmony's second 
stage of greatness. And now after many years 
of lassitude has come another spur to mental 
effort, that sets New Harmony apart and above 
all other villages in the country in intellectual 
striving. 

Through the generosity of an old Irish phy- 

113 



sician, considered as tight-fisted as Midas him- 
self till his will showed him a philanthropist, 
New Harmony has a free lecture course, and a 
library of thirty thousaand volumes. For ten 
cents anyone can hear the best speakers in the 
land; their program last year was a vast im- 
provement over our S. L. A. course. The library 
is well housed, although the arrangement is more 
like that of a shoe-store than a library. Volumes 
of a size are all put together ; I found a book on 
agriculture side by side with Shelley's poems. 
On the second story is the art gallery, remarkable 
for its costly frames and a Cleopatra with should- 
ers like a coal-passer; and across the hall a mu- 
seum full of queer shells and stones, and military 
plunder — a little of everything from everywhere. 
These things struck us as very ordinary, ex- 
cept that they were home-produced, and not de- 
pendent on the bounty of a steel magnate. Above 
the door, instead of the usual ''Carnegie Li- 
brary," was a sign reading "The Workingmen's 
Institute", an organization founded by the soc- 
ialist dreamer, William McClure, in the days of 
New Harmony's first greatness. We could not 

114 



still our criticism of ill-arranged volumes and 
ill-assorted pictures ; our guide quite agreed with 
us. But when he told us the number of books 
taken out weekly from that little library, and how 
every resident of New Harmony sent back some 
memento of his journeys afar off to be added to 
the Museum, we were forced into silence. The 
picture had been given by the Irish physician 
along with his thousands, and since they could 
not be cured, must be endured. But the library 
and the Museum showed home pride, and a 
w^holesale love of something more than dollars. 
As we walked away from the library, we felt 
that every mine of interest had been robbed of 
its wealth except the fund of wit and wisdom 
possessed by the benovolent Mr. Hiatt. So for 
three hours we sat in the old Rappite lodging 
house, now converted into a general store con- 
ducted by a bustling young merchant who boasts 
of a year at Michigan. There we listened to 
Joel W. Hiatt, while a thunder-storm rolled up 
the valley and burst over the town. Seated on 
the edge of a big chair, his head — the head of a 
statesman — bent forward, and his hands clasped 

115 



just beneath the curve of his jolly paunch, he 
discoursed on letters, spiritualism, the immor- 
tality of the soul, political economy, and the 
Owenite brand of philosophy. Never before 
had I dreamed that conversation might become 
elocjuence, and language an art as well as a means 
of expression. 

Before we left him to seek again the comfort 
of the Hotel Ideal table, Mr. Hiatt informed us 
that we were invited to visit the Corbins that 
evening. We had earlier manifested the desire 
to see the inside of the old Owen house, and in 
New Harmony the wish of a Professor is law. 
My consternation was increased by Joel W.'s 
sly assurance that Miss Helen had returned from 
three years abroad and would be glad to see me. 
Heavens! Glad to see an apparition in ragged 
trousers, flannel shirt and canvas shoes of a sick- 
ly green hue. Van Tyne accepted, of course. I 
have always thought he did it because he had a 
coat and I had none; sort of revenge for my 
"false colors" cry when he put on that collar. 

Once committed, I was bound to dei game. I 
found a white shirt, hideously crumpled but com- 

ii6 



paratively clean, in the recesses of the duffle-bag, 
bought a collar, and prepared to face the dis- 
gusted looks of a worldly young lady in the hos- 
tile environemnt of a real drawing room. Never- 
theless I was keen to go ; it had been a week since 
I had seen a girl clad in anything other than the 
mother-hubbards in vogue along the river. The 
call of the wild was losing its attraction. I knew 
both Van Tyne and I were dying to move in 
polite society, to come into our own if only for 
an hour. And still, there was the spectre of our- 
selves — we were sights incapable of rousing envy 
in a street-urchin. 

These pitiful preliminaries over, and a supper 
good enough to give an anchorite courage stowed 
away, Joel W. Hiatt escorted us to the Corbin 
door, and introduced us with the air of a 
grand vizier presenting foreign ambassadors. 
The Corbins must have been prepared in ad- 
vance for our condition; at any rate I caught no 
looks of surprise from any of the half dozen 
people present as I shed my raincoat in the hall 
and stepped into the drawing room in a mussed 
white shirt. And the j oiliest part of the whole 

117 



evening was that neither of us felt embarrassed, 
although the room was magnificently furnished 
and the family tastily clad. At first I tried to 
hide my green galoshes under the table, but with- 
drew them unconsciously almost as soon as I 
had stuck them into the shadow. 

Introduced with a regal flourish as a "Profes- 
sor of American History in the University of 
Michigan, sir," Van Tyne could not resist be- 
coming the center of attraction. He carried it 
off well. First he graphically described our jour- 
ney, emphasizing its dangers and discomforts; 
then the beauty of the town and the delightful 
nature of its residents, at which the banker 
smiled benignly at his buxom wife; then he 
switched to Europe, then the University of Mich- 
igan, and finally to Daniel Webster, where, on 
his own ground he was challenged by Joel W. 
Hiatt. 

Meantime I was out of range, having induced 
the new arrival from Europe to occupy half a 
large divan on the other side of the room. Dom- 
inating the assembly was the kindly face of Joel 
W. Hiatt, wreathed in smiles ; for we, his pro- 

ii8 



teges, were making good in polite society. There 
is nothing so soul-satisfying as to have your 
judgments backed by experience. 

Before we had tumbled into bed that night, 
we declared New Harmony the one place in the 
world where two men could be entertained by 
the elite of the town in a beautiful drawing room 
without feeling themselves patronized. 

The next morning Mr. Hiatt escorted us to 
the train. As we were heaping our thanks upon 
him, he said with a grand simplicity, "We seldom 
see such men as you, and all New Harmony is 
indebted for your visit. We haven't the men 
here we used to have. Our young men of brains 
and family go to the cities, when they've done 
with college, and sometimes it's hard to find 
people interested in things of the mind." 

''They are to be found elsewhere," I said, 
somewhat faintly, for I was not sure of my 
ground. 

"Yes, my boy," he said, stroking the gray hair 
back from his high, broad forehead. "But here 
I have lived, and here I will live unto the end. 

119 



Old birds cannot feather new nests. But I wish 
the boys would stay." 

As I waved my hand back at him when the 
train was leaving the little station, I thought 
that it was well for us and for New Harmony 
that the boys didn't stay. For young men stay 
only where the money is, where there are mills 
and factories to smudge the air and debase the 
spirit. When these things come to New Har- 
mony, its people will no longer be the ones to 
take two weary strangers by the hand, look 
beneath their rough exterior for worth, and send 
them on their way with new faith in human 
nature. 



120 










^ 



\ 




V) 



/ 



A. 



MY PREACHMENT 

A sad young face, sad eyes, 
Too sad, and over-wise, 
Stays me as I haste to reach 
Tempting grape and luscious peach. 
"Spoil," said I, "for who will reach." 

So I stay my hand ; "and who, 
Doleful face, most droll, are you?" 
"Surely yesterday you knew !" 

"Surely — surely now I see! — 
I — you — tumbled from a tree. 
Climbing up the world to see ! 

"And again, I mind, I— you — 
Ate green apples — quite a few — 
Followed what a how-de-do ! 

"You're Experience, I see, 
Sad from tumbling from a tree ! 
You're Experience— you're ME!" 

Fools in clambering for a crown 
Of times fall and crack their own ! 
In the gallop after riches 
Some take headers into ditches! 
Luscious grape and tempting peach 
Tempt youth most when out of reach! 
When you've learned \X—you can preach! 
123 



LINES TO AN INSTRUCTOR 

(With thanks to Tennyson for professional courtesies.) 

i^ooped up within those dingy walls, 
^ He'd talk at us a whole hour through. 
He'd fixed the curtains so his thralls, 
Who might have watched the campus-view, 
Could not let eyes and mind roam there 
In search of thoughts he never gave. 
He did not one idea have, 
But still his voice sawed through the air. 

I only said, He's very dreary. 

A half-hour still, I said. 

I said, I am aweary, awearj^, 

I wish that he was dead. 
Like a great fly in afternoons 
His buzzing drove our senses mad; 
His voice had just three different tones, 
And each of them was vilely bad. 
So that my flesh would fairly creep; 
But most I loathed the heavy grind 
And creaking of his laboring mind, 
Which sleep induced, then murdered sleep. 

And once I said, I can see clearly 

He's onto me, I said. 

Though this is buying credits dearly, 

I must look int'rested. 

124 



The campus clock's last-quarter stroke 
Had sounded centuries ago; 
But never call of the hour br<:^e 
Our dull monotony of woe, 
As still he ravaged sound and sense, 
And still our tortured nerves cried back, 
Like wan, weak victims on the rack, 
With hell clean beat on punishments. 

At last I said, He does not weary. 

He will not quit, I said. 

I said, This makes my life so dreary, 

O God ! that I were dead. 




125 



WHITE AND YELLOW MAN DICE 

Sixty- four thousand things were just as neces- 
sary for its happening as was the fact that 
Albee C. Aldrich, a university junior, wanted 
loose silver dollars in his pockets on this Febru- 
ary evening. This well be seen. 

Albee was the acme of college tailoring as he 
entered the front door of Yee King's little old 
yellow house of a Chinese laundry. Yee Hing 
was out, buying meat. His lone helper, the thin, 
scrawny, abject Chinaman, whom the students 
called Sick Hen, scuffed into view around the 
board screen in the back room. 

"Ate Tse Atey?" timidly queried Sick Hen, 
meaning A. C. A., the laundry mark on the shirts 
of Albee C. Aldrich. 

"Correct," said the collegian, "that's the mark 
to which I am an appendage. Find the clean 
raiment and pass it unto me." 

127 



Sick Hen looked among the bundles on the 
shelves back of the counter; examined hiero- 
gtyphic complications on one; and announced, 
"fifte-five cent." 

Sick Hen was a recently smuggled-in yellow 
man who knew the values of American coins but 
not of American greenbacks. Yee Hing dared 
leave him to wait on the student trade because 
he had learned that the boys would give square- 
deal assistance in case Sick Hen must change a 
bill. 

Ate Tse Atey's finances consisted of two bills, 
a "one" and a "ten," flat in his long pocket-book. 
Mindful of the possibilities of an evening game 
which would be played with five hopefully drawn 
cards and in which silver dollars would be that 
which a spinster is to her sister's children, Ate 
Tse Atey wished the "ten" changed in silver. 
As Ate Tse Atey took out his pocket-book, he 
noticed, written on his right cuff, his name and 
that of a young lady joined with an addictive co- 
ordinating conjunction. A friend, with school- 
boy predilections had lightly inscribed them there 
as Ate Tse Atey's arm lay along the back of a 

128 



seat at an afternoon lecture. x\te Tse Atey was 
trying to identify the penmanship as he opened 
his pocketbook. 

Now the United States treasury had, on the 
issue of one dollar bills to which Ate Tse Atey's 
belonged, printed O-N-E in letters of such size 
that when Ate Tse Atey, who was studying at 
his cuff, saw the O out of the corner of his eye, 
he thought it the cipher of a lo. So he threw 
this "one" at Sick Hen, and folded his pocket- 
book, still eyeing the writing. But finding in it 
no clue to the identity of the scribbler, he devoted 
himself to the ignition of a cigarette while Sick 
Hen took the cover off a little pasteboard box in 
the till, laid the bill in it, and replaced the cover. 
Ate Tse Atey puffed, dropped a vigorously blaz- 
ing match ; and began giving directions concern- 
ing change for the supposed "ten." 

Suddenly there was a little, sharp, snapping 
on the floor at the white man's feet. Looking 
down he saw a crumpled newspaper which a stu- 
dent had brought in around his uncrisped linen 
and thrown there, on fire. Ate Tse Atey saw 
that the consuming of the paper would end the 

129 



trifling blaze, and continued directing Sick Hen. 
But the latter smelled the fire; leaned across the 
counter; saw it; screamed; sprang distractedly 
over; and wildly crushed it out with shaking 
yellow talons. Then he sank down gasping. 

"My preserver!" dramatically exclaimed Ate 
Tse Atey. "Didn't know the Chinese were after 
Carnegie hero medals," he added. 

Sick Hen stiffened out his arms and legs, drew 
his mouth hard and roundly open in anguish, 
and stopped breathing. Ate Tse Atey's expres- 
sion changed. He felt over Sick Hen's heart. 
That organ thumped like a hammer; it paused; 
like lightning it knitted off three strokes; it 
stopped. 

Ate Tse Atey took up what had been Sick Hen 
and started for open air with it. But it breathed 
and made weak efforts to free itself. Ate Tse 
Atey let it down. It stood, and feebly labored 
for breath, and was Sick Hen. 

Ate Tse Atey's expression again changed. 
"Very well," he said, "glad to see you back. But 
let me haste to advise that during this term you 
avoid excitement until you have gotten a medical 

130 



engineer to fix the governor on your blood-pump. 
Its fitful over-industry might be followed by its 
eternal vacation." 

Sick Hen went back to the till. The other took 
his small change ; stowed nine silver dollars in 
his pockets, and went out, with the heels of his 
heavy winter oxfords ringing hard on the floor. 
Outside, he walked toward the house where he 
lived, a brown one with a tower on one corner. 

But on the walk he met a girl whose name 
was on his cuff. She confided to him.. *'It's so 
funny how things turn out. Now, tonight I have 
the use of a coaster-bob — and none of the girls 
can go — and of course I cannot go all alone." 

"Any situation," said Ate Tse Atey, "is funny 
and of the nature of comedy only in case you are 
reconciled to it. If yovi are in bitter revolt it 
should be referred to as tragical." 

"Well," the corrected lady answered, "I don't 
know as I am quite reconciled to having the girls 
so busy, but I can imagine a turn of affairs which 
might make me so." 

And thus Ate Tse xA^tey went coasting instead 

131 



of playing an evening game with five hopefully 
drawn cards. 

Yee Hing, the stubby, gloomy-faced owner of 
the laundry, slouched and scuffed back across the 
street from the butcher shop. 

With financial accumulations sparse and pros- 
pect of return to the Flowery Land as man of 
affluence distant, Yee Hing had troubles. To- 
night before he went for meat he had counted, 
and there had been less than thirty dollars in 
the till. 

Yee Hing carried the meat into the back room 
of the laundry, where they lived and worked, 
where Sick Hen was sucking bliss through a 
black pipe, where white men did not come nor 
see. It was closing time. Yee Hing scufifed 
around and locked the doors. He took the mon- 
ey from the till, counting it. He called Sick Hen 
who, alarmed at his tone, came frightenedly 
shambling, his manner almost proof of guilt. 
Yee Hing menacingly asked of the missing dol- 
lars. Sick Hen confusedly chinesed that Ate 
Tse Atey must have taken too much change. 

At this there gleamed in Yee Hing's slanting 

132 



eyes absolute accusation, for Yee Hing knew 
much of Ate Tse Atey, had seen the depth of 
him well up into his face as he took by the collar 
an individual with a peaked, fox-like nose, who 
stealthily pocketed a stag-horn jack-knife in a 
little shop which a half -blind old man kept down 
on Main Street. 

Yee Hing spat obscenity like a yellow devil. 
He reviled Sick Hen's ancestry to its beginnings ; 
spoke words that should have roused Sick Hen 
to kill and throw the body somewhere for dogs. 
But scared Sick Hen stood looking as his nick- 
name. 

Yee Hing kept asking for the money. Sick 
Hen could only answer, ''Ate Tse Atey, Ate Tse 
Atey." That Sick Hen should steal and then try 
to fool by such a palpable lie was wrong and 
insult deserving death. Yet Yee Hing would not 
kill. A dead Sick Hen could not tell of the dol- 
lars. Yee Hing would make a hasty search, and 
then, if the dollars were not found, torture out 
confession. Yee Hing searched ; stunned Sick 
Hen with a laundry iron ; stripped the limp form ; 
and bound it to a post; support of the sagging 

133 



old ceiling in the working room where white men 
did not come nor see. 

Sick Hen revived in the night. He was gagged 
with a towel. Towels were around his thin body 
and legs, so holding him against the post that, 
though his feet rested on the floor, he was not 
comfortable. His arms were bound above his 
head. 

In the morning Yee Hing rose grunting, and 
arranged his pigtail stolidly. He informed Sick 
Hen that readiness to confess might be signified 
by a squinty closing of the left eye. Any signifi- 
cant closing of that eye not resulting in produc- 
tion of the money would be repaid by raps on the 
head with a laundry iron. 

Over in the brown house, Ate Tse Atey was 
still dozing. It would be well for Sick Hen if 
Ate Tse Atey should arise, and go forth, and 
spend dollars, that with the silver ones gone, he 
might turn to that bill in his pocket-book, dis- 
cover the mistake, and stroll over to Yee Hing's 
little old yellow house of a Chinese laundry. 

In another house of the college town a minis- 
ter of the Gospel, the Reverend E. J. Bates, was 

134 



in his study. He was praying that a Being of 
the skies who took a census of the hairs of the 
head and kept statistics of the death-rate of spar- 
rows would direct his every act. After his prayer 
the minister began a note to the mayor, which 
contained these lines: *'Am deeply obliged for 
your assistance — will you see that two patrol- 
men are detailed to go with me this afternoon?" 

In the laundry Yee Hing cooked and ate his 
meat and rice. He placed a bowl where Sick 
Hen could see, that the sight wake pains of hun- 
ger and move the stubborn thief to confess. Yee 
Hing desired the matter over with, that Sick 
Hen might be at work, and as he sorted a heap 
of soiled clothes he looked at intervals for a 
significant closing of that left eye; seeing none, 
he sorted on. 

Sick Hen was limp; his lean yellow body was 
like a rag in the towels. He was thinking that 
Ate Tse Atey must have taken the money in fun 
and might even now be sauntering over from the 
campus to banter and return the dollars. Sick 
Hen would have liked to hear the front door 
open ; see Yee Hing go around the board screen 

135 



into the front room and hear Ate Tse Atey talk- 
ing to Yee Hing, who would come back and untie 
the towels. 

In lazy course of time Ate Tse Atey rose, egged 
and toasted, and went to classes. Later he vis- 
ited the stores where he bought music, a novel, 
and cigarettes, for which he paid in silver. A 
start on spending down to his bocket-book and 
Sick Hen's liberation, but the spending stopped 
and he went to lunch. 

Ate Tse Atey lunched; the Reverend E. J. 
Bates lunched ; Yee Hing ate. He ate smacking 
and slavering ostentatiously where the stubborn 
thief could see. There was yet no squinty clos- 
ing of that left eye. 

The balls of Sick Hen's eyes often rolled up^ 
w^ard. Often, his eyes closed as those of a man 
in a stupor. With eyes so closed. Sick Hen 
might have been taken for a withered mummy, 
had it not been for the breathing swell and col- 
lapse of his abdomen-skin and the rise and fall 
of his famine-picture ribs. 

Yee Hing, the matter-of-fact discipliner, was 
worried. Sick Hen was so insanely stubborn. 

136 



It would do no good if he should swoon as he 
seemed apt to do. Evidently it would be better 
to force confession while Sick Hen had strength 
to suffer. 

Near Yee Hing was a heap of collars and 
cuffs which he could not finish ironing before 
mid-afternoon. Yee Hing planned. 

He picked up the long, straight, iron poker 
which lay by the stove : the end of the poker was 
perhaps a quarter of an inch in diameter. The 
discipliner stood before the limp mummy. To 
make sure of receiving undivided attention he 
gave it pokes and punches in the abdomen with 
the metal; he drew the end of the rod up and 
down Sick Hen's ribs as one would rub-a-dub 
a clothes pin up and down a wash-board. 

Sick Hen was attentive. 

Yee Hing lucidly outlined the proposed reform 
movement. If by the time the heap of collars 
and cuffs was ironed, there was no significant 
closing of the left eye, he, Yee Hing, would with 
the poker's end heated to a color suggestive of 
sunsets, slowly burn a cuff-high laundry mark, 
Ate Tse Atey, into the skin of Sick Hen's chest. 

137 



The work would be done slowly, would^ oc- 
cupy unrestful minutes. Any significant closing" 
of the left eye not bringing the money would 
be the first of a series of events that would cul- 
minate with the substitution of a wire gag for 
the towel one, and the cleansing kissing of Sick 
Hen's lying mouth with the purifying, cauteriz- 
ing red iron. After the rosy iron's chastening 
work, Sick Hen would be released, and, provided 
he kept discreet silence, allowed to take up regu- 
lar labors. 

Sick Hen might choose. 

Yee Hing began ironing collars. 

Ate Tse Atey, having no afternoon classes, 
went with a sophomore to a billiard hall, where 
they took their private cues from the rack and 
played on Table No. 2. This looked had for 
Sick Hen. Ate Tse Atey might lose every game 
and pay for each at its close without having to 
turn to his pocket-book for cash. Besides the 
manner in which he played made his steady los- 
ing improbable. Ate Tse Atey was going down 
on Main Street when he left the billiard hall; 

138 



his way would be past Yee King's ; if he discov- 
ered he would stop there. 

Sick Hen saw Yee Hing ironing collars fast. 

The Reverend E. J. Bates left his study for 
police headquarters. Some people thought the 
minister righteously zealous; some thought him 
extreme and undignified for the pastor of a city 
church. 

When Ate Tse Atey tired of billiards he and 
the sophomore walked up to the long cigar case 
in the front of the hall, behind which was a man 
with whom they settled. 

"Got a game in now, you can't beat, Albee,'^ 
the man challenged. 

"What is she?" asked Ate Tse Atey, "heads, 
you win; tails, I lose?" 

"No, nice dice game — call your trumps, sixes 
for instance — five throws with ten dice, gost you 
quarter — get thirteen sixes or over and you get 
a dollar in chips or due bills — fifteen sixes, you 
get two dollars, and so on up — here's the sched- 
ule on this tally-sheet." 

Ate Tse Atey put an extra set of dice into a 
box ; called "deuces" ; and threw the cubes. Suc- 

139 



cess shuttled with seductive inconsistency be- 
tween the house and the player. The consistent 
feature of the game was Ate Tse Atey's steady 
putting up of dollars. He would soon come to 
his pocket-book. 

Yee Hing was well along in the task of ironing 
collars, and working rapidly. 

Sick Hen was writhing some. He was rather 
hungry and thirsty. His eyes kept setting and 
glazing like a dying dog's. It would be mercy if 
he should swoon ; but every time his mind cloud- 
ed and darkened there came into the darkness 
a great red iron with soft concentric fluid-edged 
heat waves beating off it, and then his left chest 
pained, and his brain flashed clear as a shriek, 
choked by the towel into a splutter, issued from 
his mouth. 

Yee Hing had the poker in the stove and he 
scuffed over and drew it out to see how it was 
heating. Its end was a very bright pretty red. 
Yee Hing would finish the collars in eight or nine 
minutes. 

But Ate Tse Atey played out his last silver 
dollar and dug into his clothes for his pocket- 

140 



book. "My last dollar is coming," he mourned, 
'Til hurry that oft* and then I must go down on 
Main Street. I could stay no longer this after- 
noon if Wall Street, New York, was in my pock- 
ets, so please don't embarrass me with an oft'er 
of credit." 

Sick Hen would soon hear Ate Tse Atey's 
voice rating Yee Hing for the ignorance of his 
subordinate. Then Yee Hing would come back, 
and undo the towels, and Sick Hen would tumble 
to the floor, and lie there a while, and rest, and 
not have the flesh of his left chest cooked. 

Ate Tse Atey's hand was on his pocket-book 
when into the billiard hall, to confiscate the 
ordinance-forbidden dice, came two patrolmen 
led by the Reverend E. J. Bates, who was pray- 
ing that a Being of the skies who took a census 
of the hairs of the head and kept statistics of the 
death-rate among sparrows would approve the 
act. 

Ate Tse Atey's pocket-book was not opened. 

Ate Tse Atey went down to Main Street past 
Yee Hing's little old yellow house of a Chinese 
laundry. 

141 



Yee Hing glided his iron over the last collar 
and looked long at Sick Hen. He saw no signi- 
ficant closing of the left eye. He scuffed over 
to the stove and drew out the poker; it was red 
far up. The red of its end was a paler, whiter 
red than a coal's. 

Yee Hing moved toward Sick Hen. 

Sick Hen chewed like a beast at the towel gag. 
It he could break it he would shriek and howl. 
But in his chewing and sawing he took rather 
more from his lips and tongue than from the 
cloth. 

How was Yee Hing to know that, as the iron 
cookingly sizzled into Sick Hen's left chest, Sick 
Hen's blood-pump would thump and hurt like a 
tongue pulled out, like a tooth, then dilate, as it 
were, into a globe of incandescent pain, which 
burst in a sublime agony as the pump went on its 
eternal vacation? 

Yee Hing wished that Sick Hen had not died ; 
he had been a good workman, even though a 
thief. But it was not his code that white men 
should know what had happened and which men 
did not know. 

142 



That evening Ate Tse Atey came into the laun- 
dry and found the Reverend E. J. Bates there, 
getting a clean shirt to wear over his pure heart 
while he preached his Sunday sermon and point- 
ed out to his flock the path of duty. Ate Tse 
Atey said he had come to correct a mistake that 
had been made in changing a bill, and asked for 
Sick Hen just as Yee Hing moved toward the 
shelves to get the minister's package. Yee Hing 
did not pause at Ate Tse Atey's words but walk- 
ed at the shelves like a blind man, striking his 
forehead full on the edge of one. 

"What's the matter," said Ate Tse Atey, "get- 
ting deaf, dumb, and blind. I say, where's Sick 
Hen?" 

Yee Hing had recovered ; was steady now, and 
remembered his code. "He glon New Yolk — 
wolk in big laundry," he quacked. 

"He will prosper," said the minister, "he seem- 
ed an honest worker. An honest worker will 
prosper," he summarizingly explicated, hoping 
that the point made and the sentiment expressed 
would benefit his hearers. 

143 



THE WORM 

Lying flat in the cool of the summer shade, 
Murmuring dreams of unrestful youth to him I 

love, 
Found I this, a crawling worm. 
Crude and twisting thing that entwines a blade 
Emerald-hued, that points to the somnolent blue 
above, — 
Dumb insensate life but fit to squirm 
Gropingly through grassy underways, — what 
Knows he of yellow butterflies athrong 

Round his clover plot? 
What knows he of flaming-breasted orioles and song? 

Here am I, flat, naked, lying in the river's mud, 

Close beside my brother dreaming: 
Watching his wan body, — symmetries in brawn, — 

Knowing of the passions teeming 
Red, resistless in the torrents of his blood: 

Loving his great sinews lifting, tense and drawn, — 
Seeing and comparing with the wonn 
Him of muscled chest out-flung, of pallid thigh, and 
firm. 
Brothers they in whirling ages hoary, 
Intershot with restless fire. 
Interfused with ilk desire. 
Knowing neither myth nor story, 
Seeking neither gaud nor glory, 

144 



Scattering wide a myriad wriggling nation, 
Joyous in the pangs of procreation, 
Caring naught for gaud or glory. 
Here am I of selfsame parentage 
Riven ages past from sunlight, mystery and foams, 
Mothered by lagoons of slime; 
Whence from jellied masses, yeasty crowds, — 

Green with slime, — 
Sprang I like a star shot from the clouds, 

Flushed as rose-hearts in the summer prime : 
Starlike hung above the heaven-swathed world 

Potent now, earth king and earthly sage, 
Dreamer in colors, chiseled stone, and scribbler of 
tomes, 

Dabbler in music, mood and rhyme — 
Dormant sovereign of the wild-eyed tempests hurled 
Slantwise cross the threshold of the world. 

Ugly, loveless, clumsily crawling, 
Sloggily climbs the worm to his grass-spear top: 

Slowly, clumsily halting or clumsily falling, 
Sprawling his length to the drop. 
Dawdler and slow-wit, poor sloth so miserably thriving, 

Joyless in June and the summer prime. 
Cruelly hath Fate kept thee moiling and striving 

Up from the ooze of the Devon slime: 
Cruell}'' still cozens thee on to prolong 
Ugliness in this green garden of song. 



145 



TO THE DEVIL 

"Deelzebub, kind friend, wise chap, 
^ Exiled and spurned from off the map, 
Martyred saint, accurst by fools 
That drink their creed like pedants' rules; 
Since modest}^ stills thy tongue so long, 
Accept my humble meed of song. 
Beauty's patron, kind of heart, 
To thee is due the gifts of art, — 
The sculptor's chisel, church-outlawed. 
The artist's brush, tradition-gnawed, 
The noble lesson taught by man 
Who treads the stage 'neath cleric ban. 
Social helper, priest of earth, 
Praise give we thee for gift of mirth, 
For youth kept green by wholesome joy, 
For gray beard gay with heart of boy, 
For pleasant smile, for laughter's roar, 
That gives of life a generous store. 
Progress' minion, foe of age, 
'Tis thee we thank for science's page; 

146 



For shackles forged by supliced hands 

Were broken by thy toiling bands, 

Who've conquered thought and time and space, 

And made a new world for our race. 

Friend of truth, champion of doubt, 

Who aged error puts to rout, 

The searching eye, the open mind, 

The damning "why" to faith quite blind, 

And heresy, an honest creed — 

This fruitful yield is from thy seed. 

Manhood's friend, I thank thee, knight, 

For nerve to speak my mind aright; 

For courage for the right to dare; 

For truth to pray unselfish prayer; 

For honesty to make me tell 

The saintly thief to go to Hell; 

For love to feed the wretched knave; 

Whom sleek-coat priests ne'er try to save; 

For hope to fight for special right. 

When churches yawn 'neath riches' might; 

For grit to strike the pious sham; 

For grace to say a reverent "damn," 

Servant of good, high-priest of right, 

They've made of thee a prince of night; 

Impish form, horn, hoof, and tail 

They've given thee; at thee they rail; 

Yet never, patient martyr great, 

Speak'st thou of one word of hate. 

147 



A BALLAD 

With all my heart I love a lass, 
Bat she doth not love me — 
And there's another doth confess 
That truly she loves me. 
Thus ever in a circle goes 
The everlasting three : 
The one I love, and I myself, 
And that one who loves me. 
And oftentimes I try to think 
What way I'd happiest be, — 
With her I love, or by myself, 
Or with her who loves me. 



"STRIFE" 

T ike evening clouds that hold the sunset glows 
^-^ Long after Venus' charmed orb has taken its 

way, 
Into the boundary of another day; 
So are the tints of little Willie's nose, 
When he emerges from the bloody fray. 

148 



"H 



THE LAUGHING GODS 

umanity is a supremely ironic processioiij 
with laughter of Gods in the back- 
ground. 

Out in the warm liquid sunlight, Sister Tekla 
walked slowly counting her beads. A soft silence 
lay about her, and she allowed herself with a 
lurking shame, yet with an inrush of sweetness 
too alluring to be denied, a transcendent realiza- 
tion of the contentment to which she had come. 
With the warmth of the air it swathed her round, 
enfolding to her as a soft mantle, blessing her as 
cold water on morning dew. For the moment 
she stopped counting and held her breath, kept 
herself clear in an upper atmosphere, above her 
new world, refusing its commonplaces, accepting 
only its beauties. Yet she could not hold herself 
there long. She was after all too human for the 
possibility of transfixing her happiness : too much 

149 



now the religieuse to allow her soul even to bal- 
ance its resting against man's dutiful restless- 
ness. With a sudden onslaught, shame, now be- 
come bold, rushed in upon her; and repentant 
for her few moments of unreligious peace, she 
entered the chapel. Here in the dimly colored 
silence, its beauty one, in her mind, with the 
Cause to which she had sent prayer, she found 
justifiable content. 

The ascetic in her was growing, crowding out 
the thoughtless, instinctive organization, irre- 
sponsive to driven law, that had once been hers. 
But accompanying this change there had been 
another — a transition — whose light and shadow 
as an eclipse growing from half to full, marked 
clearly the contrast between her former and her 
present life. The vows that she had so fervently 
yet so blindly taken, the vows that she had seen 
once as only a high wall against the past, cold 
stone to hide the world, were now become soft 
to her view, a beloved limit to her cloistered con- 
tentment. To the woman she had been, the Dead 
— whose passing had sent her reeling to retreat 
— had been living, in a distant Land, yet— alive. 

150 



To the nun that she was the dead were dead, and 
their dwelling in that dark sacrilege, made prayer 
for them a consolation. Upon her knees and 
now without sense of wrong, she sent to her 
Dead the message of her present new found 
peace. The gleaning candles shed benediction 
upon her kneeling figure. 

Early the next morning, she went to her daily 
round of duty in the hospital, carrying with her 
the precious treasure of her contentment. As 
she stood aside in the corridor to allow a noise- 
less carriage to pass her by, she glanced half 
curiously at the insensible form outstretched up- 
on it. Over the face, hiding the nose and mouth 
lay a cloth, from which the fumes of ether tainted 
the purer air. The veined eyelids could be seen 
folded — in an eternal rest they seeemed — and 
below the cloth a white winding scar made the 
chin unique, unforgetable. For an instant, Sis- 
ter Tekla's mind was blank, void of thought. To 
some other self within her she seemed to be wait- 
ing for a lagging intelligence to bring to her con- 
scious mind a message heavy with import. Its 
first wave was a premonition of its content. 

151 



White horror shot her through, and she shivered 
as if in an awakening. Somewhere far down in 
the woman that she was, depths that had been 
long motionless and stilled awoke to life with the 
impact of the shock from without. Their move- 
ment grew to violent upheaval, flooding her, and 
then left her icy, feelingless as stone. Her Dead 
had come back ! God, it could not be. The horror 
of it touched her mind to blank grayness, numb- 
ed to everything except this memory beating in- 
sistently upon her. She refused it admittance, 
but it persisted sickeningly until its very nau- 
sea awoke her to some consciousness of her suf- 
fering. For many thousands of years she wait- 
ed, and was pierced by a sudden unbelief, an 
arrow of absurdity. She looked down the nar- 
row hall and saw the white-clothed attendant 
already pushing the silent carriage through a 
doorway. She mocked herself. It could not be 
he. His body lay in the jungle, ten thousand 
miles away. So they had said. But what if they 
had not known, had lied to her. Doubt assailed 
her again, and when she thought of her position, 
hemmed in as she was by an invisible army of 

152 



honor and tradition, she grew mad with panic. 
To have happiness within reach and its grasping 
forever deferred: no soul might endure it. A 
hot swift hatred of circumstance poured over 
her, blinding her, choking her, leaving her grop- 
ing in an agony of passionate suffocation. She 
stood so until a voice called her to some trivial 
duty. She went, hands and feet mechanical and 
spiritless, within her a stupor as of an opiate. 

The day kept her so, numb, insensate; and 
with the passing night that she stared out, jour- 
neyed no consciousness of change. Yet under- 
neath went on a silent readjustment, and with 
morning there came to the shocked mechanism, 
sanity. Slowly her problem plotted itelf in 
straight lines before her, and her mind, normal 
again in its delicate sensibility to impression, 
marvelled at its simplicity. For her own human 
happiness she was to choose now, half wonder- 
ing to find herself at the crossroads, whose place 
at least once in every life she had so often 
thought a fiction. Though she was unaware of 
it, the essential religious sense would play little 
part in her determination. It was her honor — 

153 



an honor that gave to her vows vitality — and a 
traditional respect for religion that she mistook 
for religion itself, pitted against her love. Until 
she could be certain she would take no steps even 
to ascertain his identity. If her love failed she 
would never know. With this she was satisfied, 
fearing now to go farther, unconsciously wishing 
to rest before the internal war that must precede 
any further happines. She went to her duties, 
hiding herself from: herself, finally losing her 
shadow" for a time in absorption in her work. 
Only once during the day did she waken to a re- 
trospect : and that once was terrible. When she 
crossed the yard to the chapel, the sunlight — 
pregnant with the memory of another day's con- 
tentment — ^glared out, hideous with taunt and 
with irony. She almost ran to the arched door- 
way, and once inside, stood panting. But with 
the handling of her beads she lost everything 
else, even her soul, that had always before been 
with her in her ceremonies. Now it was merely 
mechanical. 

That night, alone, she felt dimly the loss of 
the morning's clarity of vision. Her flight must 

154 



be now, at once — she knew that — ^but it would 
be no ordered advancement and counter-march 
of opposed forces. A confusing turmoil, over 
which she would preside monotonously, as a 
blind Goddess to be crowned or stoned with the 
strange rites in the case of victory or defeat; it 
would be that merely. Yet there was somewhere 
farther back of this mere sensing of things, a 
perceived idea of them. The outline had not 
faded: it was only clouded. It was in this part 
of her that, curiously enough, she would not pray 
for a decision. She was too just for that, or 
perhaps more vaguely she feared the preponder- 
ance of a Heavenly hand. Yet there was no 
thought of treason to her vows in the act of 
fighting : she was too grimly in earnest to be sen- 
sitive now on that score. The struggle must be: 
by whichever way it went she would abide. And 
already it was having its way within her. The 
memory of love, that had turned her to battle 
against the very thing she had been trying to be- 
come, was being revivified by the keen air of 
conflict into life itself, hungry, passionate, and 
reckless. She had imaged the old rapture of 

155 



clasped hands and mated lips, and it had vaguely 
stirred her. Now it was the anticipation, frankly 
accepted, of a greater happiness before her, that 
swept through her, strewing everywhere the 
wreckage of monotonous contentment. In a fury 
at what held her, she seemed to rise from herself 
to a new height, mad, lawless, but gloriously 
free. She would not attempt to justify now. 
She wanted him, with all the strength of un- 
answered womanhood that had been pent up 
within her; and she exulted, thrilled through, by 
her defiance of all the repressive powers that had 
once encompassed her. The ascetic in her was 
forever dead: the woman splendidly renewed. 

All around, the night lay black, but heedless 
now in her eagerness for certain knowledge with 
its promise of fulfilment, she swiftly left her 
room. Arrived at the numbered door, she enter- 
ed without knocking, her training left behind 
with the past. The sight of a priest just rising 
from the bedside held her still. Death was heavy 
in the air and in the silence. Merciful for the 
moment, it left her nerveless, unfeeling. Slowly, 
as if calm, she walked past the disturbed inmates 

156 



of the room, to look upon the white face. The 
scar lay like a slash of red, unique, unforgetable, 
but the face was a stranger's. The Dead was 
not her Dead. She stared for a moment, and 



then laughed- 



-softly and without mirth. 




157 



THE GIPSY TRAIL 

Come follow the lure of the gipsy trail 
O'er dingle and hill and hollow, 
Leave sorrow behind with the brooding wind 

And follow me, follow, follow. 
I took my leave from the house of care 

With a laugh at the landlord's frown, 
*'0-ho for a breath of the pine-sweet air 

And uplands sere and brown." 
By crooning streams where the sunlight gleams 

I roamed o'er the hills of dawn. 
And ever the voice of the dawn-white bird 

Beckoned me on and on. 
Till deep in a glen where water-falls shake 

I threw my pack to the wind 
"Come rain or shine, this home is mine; 

I cast all sorrow behind." 
The days pass by like the shifting clouds 

That sail o'er the mountains blue, 
And I smile at the folk in the House of Care 

Who cherish their own heart's rue. 
I breathe tthe breath of murmuring pines 

And sweet of the wild red rose. 

158 



On peaks forlorn where mists are torn 
I roam as the cool wind blows. 

Come follow the lure of the gipsy trail 
O'er dingle and hill and hollow, 

Leave sorrow behind with the brooding wind 
And follow me, follow, follow. 
August 14, 1910. 




A FABLE 

i^nce there were three learned men, a profes- 
^^ sor of engineering, a philosopher, and an in- 
structor in heredity, who, as they were strolling 
deep in tlieir discussions concerning the better- 
ment of humanity, were halted by deep lakes of 
water and a network of straits which split up 
their campus into an archipelago. 

"This should be looked into," said the engi- 
neering professor. I will write personally to the 
Commission for the Improvement of Deep Wat- 
erways. A drawbridge should be built at the 
approach to the Library, and a restraining wall 
around the Economics building." 

"Aw, don't kid us," responded the philosopher, 
"won't it be fun for the girls tomorrow sliding 
on the ice?" 

"I will bet you," said the heredity tute, "that 
all the Seniors and Alumni within four hundred 
years will be web-footed." 

Moral: Sidewalks is good. 

i6o 



A LESSON TO A WAYWARD BOY 

There was a poor youiig man, who was leaving his 

country home, 
And was going to New York to look for work. 
He promised his dear mother he would shun all bad 

companions, 
And never touch a drop of beer in all his life. 
He got to New York and was working in a quarry. 
And while working there he met some College students. 
Never thought he they were demons, for they wore the 

best of clothes. 
But clothes do not always make a gentleman. 
Oh, they took him out one night and they tempted him 

to drink, 
But he remembered his vow and said he would not. 
But they scoffed and they jeered and they said he was 

a coward, 
So finally he took a glass of beer. 
When he saw what he had done, he dashed his glass 

upon the floor 
And staggered to the door in delirium tremens, 

i6i 



And while crazed with the liquor he met a salvation 

army lass 
And cruelly he broke her tambourine. 
Then she said, "Heaven bless you," and placed a kick 

upon his brow, 
A kick she learned before she had been saved. 
Now this teaches us a lesson — shun the fatal glass of 

beer, 
And don't go round breaking people's tamborines. 



162 



TROUBLE 

Tjirom night comes the djang and muttering thunder 
•*' And wisdom have (if thou canst take 
The engine is breathing, asleep in blackness, 
Wet rails glisten in glare of the switchlight, 
Strange shadows with lanterns move slowly, the train 
crew. 
We wait in a gondola hungry and wet, four com- 
rades 
With a fifth, some stranger, who has fallen amongst 

us: 
He's foreign and surly and stinks of foul cattle, 
But he's welcome to 'the warmth of us huddled 

together, — 
Shivering, drowsily cursing the cause of the trouble. 
In an hour perhaps, will come a swinging of lanterns 
And, grating and shrill, a screech of a whistle, — 
The "highball" which tells us an end to our waiting; 
Then the galloping surge and jolt of the starting. 
Rasping of wheels and quickening motion. 

Lurching and jolting through drizzle and midnight. 
We will snuggle till bright is the yellow of morn- 
ing: 
Then the fire we will build of oiled waste and old 
willow ! 

163 



O the juice of tomatoes and the smell of hot 
coffee ! 

O the satisfied quiet and the circle of comrades ! 
Comes a murmur of voices and a damn for tihe hotbox. 
And a hearty assent from us four and the stranger. 
The engine breathes deeply, asleep in blackness, 
Cold winds freeze the drizzle tall stiff is our clothing; 
We are waiting the end of all waiting, the ''highball." 



163 



SCANDAL 

A woman came into my room 
At half past twelve one night. 
She pulled my shades and windows down 

(Which doesn't look quite right.) 
She tiptoed clear across my floor 

With groping step and slow 
And I — dear reader blame me not ! 

I did not bid her go. 
But stay, I pray, be not too harsh, 

My landlord's wife, no doubt 
Knew that the rain was beating in 

And I myself was out. 
Just yesterday I passed the house 

Of folk I do not know. 
J went upstairs and threw their clock 

Down on the lawn below. 
T ransacked drawers and cubby-holes 

And everything I found 
I fancied, I put in m}^ clothes 

Or threw down on the ground. 
Yet ere 3^ou say that I am mad 

x\nd on my thievery frown 
lyCt me explain. 1 am quite sane. 

Their house was burning down. 
I used to leave a certain house 

At half past five each morn. 
The milk man in his early round 

164 



^ 



Passed me with righteous scorn. 
No doubt he has a happy home 

And loves a virtuous wife. 
Fie earns his bread and milk I'll swear 

But each must live his life. 
Absolve me, sirs, from perfidy 

And all crimes of that ilk. 
The truth is, if I must confess 

I also peddled milk. 



Moral- 



NOW READER, if you've liked these tales 

Or others of their kind, 
You'd better mend your evil ways. 

You have a scandalous mind. 



164 



MEMBERS OF QUADRANGLE 

Abbott, Royai. Albert, b. July 13, 1878, Colunnbus, Ohio. 
Lit. '02-'03. Ph.B., Ohio State University, '00, A.M., 
O. S. U., '00. Fellow and Assistant in English, 
O. S. U., igoo-'oi. Instructor in Rhetoric, U. of M., 
i90i-'o5. 1412 Sterling Place, Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Teacher of English, DeWitt Clinton High School, 
New York City. 

Adams, Ei^mer CeevEi^and, b. Dec. 20, 1885, Scotland, 
111. A.B. '08. For two years assistant editor, 
Youth's Companion. Present address, 84 Worcester 
St., Boston, Mass., or Scotland, III. 

Adams, Henry Carter, b. Dec. 31, 1851, Davenport, la. 
B.S. Iowa College, 1874. Ph.D., Johns Hopkins, '78. 
Hon. M.A. and LL.D., Iowa College, '98. LL.D., 
Wisconsin. Lecturer, Cornell, Miichigan, and Johns 
Hopkins, 1880-1887. Professor of Political Econo- 
my and Finance, U. of M., 1887—. 74^1 Hill St., 
Ann Arbor, In China 1913-14. 

Angele, James Burriel, b. Jan. 7, 1829, Scituate, R. I. 
Ph.B. (Brown) 1849. LL.D., Brown, 1868. Colum- 
bia, 1887. Rutgers, 1896. Princeton, 1896. Yale, 
1901. Johns Hopkins, 1902. Wisconsin, 1904. Ver- 
mont, 1904. Harvard, 1905. Michigan Agricultural 

i6k 



College, 1907. Dartmouth, 1909. University of Mich- 
igan, 1912. Assistant Librarian, Brown, 1850. Profes- 
sor Modern Languages and Literature, Brown 1S53- 
'60. Editor of Providence Journal, i86o-'66. Presi- 
dent of University of Vermont, 1S66-71. President 
, of University of Michigan, i87i-'o9. U. S. Minister 
to China, 1880, U. S. Minister Plenipotentiary on 
Commission Negotiating North Atlantic Fisheries 
Treaty with Great Britain, i895-'96. Chairman of 
U. S. Commission on. Deep Waterways, i897-'98. U. S. 
Minister to Turkey. President Emeritus of the 
University of Michigan, 1909 to date. Ann Arbor, 
Midh. 

Bacon, Francis Mii,i,er, b. Aug. 2, 1875, St. Clair, Mich. 
D.D.S. '96, A.B. '02. Head of Department of His- 
tory, Manual Training High School, Indianapolis, 
Ind. Instructor in English History, U. of M., igo8- 
'11. Head Master, Boys' School, Norfolk, Va. 

Barbour, Wili^ard Titus, b. Nov. 26, 1884, Coldwater, 
Mich. A.B. '05. A.M. '08. LL.B. '08. Rhodes 
Scholar, Oriel College, Oxford. Assistant Professor 
of Law, U. of M., 1912 — . Address, Ypsilanti, Mich. 

Bates, Ernest Sutherland, b. Oct. 14, 1879, Gambler, 
Ohio. A.B. '02. A.'M. '03. Ph.D., Columbia, 1908. 
Instructor in English, Oberlin, i903-'o5. Tutor in 
English, Columbia, 1908. Professor of English, 
Univ. of Arizona, 1908-'! i. 908 Speedway, Tucson, 
Ariz. 

166 



BivANCHARD, Benjamin Frank, b. Oct. 28, 1888, Shelby- 
ville, Ind. A.B. '11. Journalist, New York City. 
Shelbyville, Ind. 

Block, Ralph Josef, b. June 21, 1889, Cherokee, la. 
A.B. '11. Journalist, Kansas City Star, Kansas City, 
Mo. 

BoGLE, Henry C, b. Feb. 21, 1892, Ann Arbor, Mich. 
A.B. '13. '15 Law. 1510 Hill St., Ann Arbor. 

BoHN, William Edward, b. Feb. 17, 1877, Warrensville, 
Ohio. A.B. German Wallace College, '99. A.M. Ohio 
State University, '00. Ph.D., U. of M. '06. Fellow 
in Rhetoric, O. S. U., i900-'oi. Instructor in Rhet- 
oric, U. of M., i90O-'io. Teacher in Ethical Culture 
School, New York. 349 William St., East Orange, 
N.J. 

Bolt, Richard Arthur, b. March 12, 1880, St. Louis, 
Mo. A.B. '04. M.D. '06. Physician. Imperial Tsing 
Hua College, Tsing Hua Yuan, near Peking, China. 

Boucher, Chauncey Samuel, b. June 14, 1886, Chicago, 
111. A.B. '09. A.M. '10. Assistant in American 
History, U. of M., '09-' 10 Instructor in American 
History, U. of M., 'lo-'ii. '13 — . Marion, Ind. 

BouCKE, Oswald Frederic, b. June 16, 1881, Breraer- 
haven, Germany. A.B. '05. A.M. '06. Instructor in 
History and German, Pennsylvania State College, 
1908. State College, Pa. 

167 



BouRLAND^ Benjamin Parsons, b. May 23, 1870, Peoria, 
III. A.B. '89. A.M. '90. Ph.D. (Vienna) '97- In- 
structor and Assistant Professor of French, U. of 
M., 1892- '95, 1898-01. Associate Professor of Ro- 
mance Languages, Adelbert College, 1901-03. Pro- 
fessor ibid. 1903. Adelbert College, Cleveland, Ohio. 

BowEN, Chari^es C, 2ND. A.B. '12. School of Archi- 
tecture, University of Pennsylvania. 30 Rodney, 
Univ. of Pa., Philadelphia, Pa. Home address, 
Detroit, Mich. 

BowEN, Edgar Woodbury, b. Jan. 8, 1886, Detroit, Mich. 
A.B. '10. Seedsman, care D. M. Ferry & Co., De- 
troit, Mich. 

Bowman, Haroi^d Martin, b. Jan. 17, 1876, Des (Moines, 
la. LL.B. '99. B.L. '00. A.M. '01. Ph.D. (Colum- 
bia) 1903. Instructor and Assistant Professor of 
Political Science, Dartmouth College, 1903-06. Lec- 
turer in Boston University Law School, 1910. Law- 
yer. 19 Edgemont Road, Upper Montclair, N. J. 

Brietenbach, Haroi^d PrEi.1., b. Oct. 9, 1878, Detroit, 
Mich. A.B. '01. A.M. '03. Ph.D. '09. Principal Al- 
pena High School, 1903-05. Instructor in Rhetoric, 
U. of M., 1905. 1412 Cambridge Road, Ann Arbor, 
Absent on leave 1912- 13. Address, care J. Walter 
Tihompson Co., Detroit. 

Browne, Arthur Graham, b. Nov. i, 1880, Bay City, 
Mich. A.B. '02. Manager St. Louis Plant American 
Radiator Co., 1906-07. Assistant Manager and Di- 
rector Nisqually Iron Works, Taooma, Wash. 

168 



Brumm, John R., b. Aug. 13, 1878, Flint, Mich. A.B. 
'04, A.M. '06. Instructor in Rhetoric, i905-'io. As- 
sistant Professor of Rhetoric, 191 1—. 1916 Cam- 
bridge Road, Ann Arbor. 

Bryson, Lyman Lloyd, b. July 12, 1888, Valentine, Neb. 
A.B. '10. Reporter, Omaha Bee, i9io-'i2. Report- 
er, Detroit Evening News, 1912. Instructor in Rhe- 
toric, U. oif M., 1913—. mo White St.,, Ann Arbor, 
Mich. 

BuRESH, LuMiR, Journalist. 1621 Lincoln Ave., Oma- 
ha, Neb. 

Burgess, Ceorge, b. Sept 26, 1881, Brighton, 'Mich. A.B. 
05. J.D. '13. Taught in Brighton High School, 
i905-'o7. loio Security Bank Bldg., Minneapolis, 
Minn, 

Campbell, Ira Alexander, b. Jan. 10, 1876, Hampshire, 
111. B.L. '00. LL.B. '02. nil Merchants Exchange, 
San Francisco. 

Caneield, Arthur Graves, b. March 27, 1859, Sunder- 
land, Vt. A.B. (Williams) '78. A.M. (Williams) 
'82. Instructor in Modern Languages, University of 
Kansas, 1883" 87. Profe&sor of French, ibid., 1887- 
'00. Professor Romance Languages, University of 
Michigan, 1900—. 909 E. University Ave., Ann Ar- 
bor. 

Canton, Gerard Tompkins, b. Feb. 16, 1888, Brooklyn, 
N. Y. A.B. '10. Fire Insurance. 267 84 St., Brook- 
lyn, N. Y. Teacher, Y. M. C. A. Building, Portland, 
Oregon. 

169 



Carney, Chester Sherman, b. 1883, Bay City, Mich. 
A.B. '06. Vice-Princiipal, Hillside Home School, 
Hillside, Wis. Teacher, Kalamazoo, Mich. 

Chase, Lew Ai,i^n, b. Nov. 11, 1879, Elsie, Mich. A.B, 
'10. A.M. '11. Superintendent of Schools, Co- 
loma, Mich., i9o8-'o9. Assistant in History, Kansas 
State Agricultural College, iQog-'io. Fellow in 
American History, U. of M. Instructor in Hisitory 
in the Hancock, Mioh., High School. Hancock, Mich. 

Christoph, Charles De Guire, A.B. '12. Instructor in 
English, University of Manila, P. I. 

Clark, Herbert Watson, b. Aug. 22, 1882, Aliamo,Tenn. 
A.B. '05, A.M. '06, /'o7-'o8. Assistant in Rhetoric, 
i905-'o6. Assistant in History, i907-'o8. Assistant 
U. S. District Attorney for New Mexico, 1909. At- 
torney at Law, East Las Vegas, New Mexico. 

CoE, Carl Jenness, b. Nov. 4, 1886, Ypsilanti, Mich. 
A.B, '09. A.M. 191 1. Teaching Assistant in Mathe- 
matics, i909-'io. Instructor in Mathematics, 1910 — , 
49 Wendell St., Cambridge, Mass. (i9i3-'i4). 

Colby, Walter Francis, b. 1880, Rockford, Mioh. A.B. 
'01. Pb.D., '09. Instructor in Physics, 1907 — , 724 
S. Ingalls St., Ann Arbor. 

Collins, Wilkie Nelson, b. March 10, 1870, Forestville, 
Mich. A.B. '05. Instructor in English, U. of Penn- 
sylvania, i^-'ii. Present address, in care of Judge 
E. C. Perkins, Dallas, Texas. 

170 



Conger, John Lkonard, b. July lo, 1876, Mills County, 
Iowa. A.B. '04. A.M. '05, Ph.D. (Wis.) '07. Peter 
White Fellow, U. of M. i904-'o5 Fellow American 
History, Wisconsin, i905-'o6. Assistant in American 
History, Wisconsin, i9o6-'o7. Professor of History, 
Knox College. 585 Jefferson St., Galesburg, III. 

CooKSON, William Stanley, b. Dec. 21, 1879, Hudders- 
field, Yorkshire, Eng. A.B. '02. Rubber Planter, 
Bagan Saria Perak, Malay Peninsula, or Wahiawa, 
Oahu, H. I. 

CooLEY, Charles Horton, b. Aug. 17, 1864, Ann Arbor, 
Mich. A.B. 'S7, Ph.D.. '94- Assistant, U. of M., 
i892-'95. Instructor, i895-'99. Assistant Professor 
of Sociology, i899-'04. Junior Professor, i904-'o7. 
Professor, 1907. Ann Arbor. 

CoRwiN, Edward Samuel, b. Jan. 19, 1879. Ph.B., '00. 
Ph.D. '05 (U. of Penn.). Preceptor in History, Pol- 
itics, and Economics, Princeton University, 1905-'! i. 
(from 1909 Robert Stockton Pyne Preceptor.) Pro- 
fessor of Politics, 1911— . 115 Prospect Ave., Prince- 
ton, N. J. 

Craig, James Alexander, b. March 5, 1855, Fitzroy Har- 
bour, Ontario, Canada. A.B. McGill University, '80. 
M.A. '83, B.D. Yale Theological Seminary, '83. 
Ph.D. Leipzig '86. Instructor in Biblical Languages, 
Lane Theological Seminary, Cincinnati, Ohio, 1886. 
Adjunct Professor, i888-'9i. i89i-'92, Acting Pro- 
fessor of Old Testament Languages and Theology, 

171 



Oberlin. Professor of Oriental Languages, U. of M., 
1893. Professor of Semitics, i894-'i2. P. O. Box 
720, 'Moose Jaw, Sask., Canada. 

Crane, Harry Woi<yEn, h. Dec. 21, 1885, Big Rapids, 
(Mich. A.B. '09. A.M. '10. Ph.D. '13. Assistant in 
Sociology and Psychology. 808 Oakland Ave., Ann 
Arbor, or 313 S. Warren Ave., Big Rapids, Mich. 

Crane, Ronai^d Salmon, b. Jan. 5, 1886, Tecumseh, 
Mich. A.B. '08. Assistant in European History, U. 
of M., i907-'o8. Assistant in English, U. of Penn., 
i9o8-'o9. Harrison Fellow in English, U. of Penn., 
i909-'io. Instructor in Northwestern University, 
1910-. Evanston, 111. 

Crane, Verner Winslow, b. 1889, Tecumseh, Mich. A.B. 
'11. Student, Cambridge, Mass. Harrison Fellow, 
University of Pennsylvania, 1913. 

Cross, Arthur Lyon, b. Nov. 14, 1873, Portland, iMe. 
A.B. '95. A.M. '97, Ph.D., '99, Harvard. Instructor, 
U. of M., i899-'04. Assistant Professor, i904-'o7. Jun- 
ior Professor i907-'ii. Professor since 1911. Lec- 
turer Harvard Summer School, 1899-1905. Lecturer 
Harvard second half year, 1910. 705 S. State St., 
Ann Arbor. 

CusHiNG, Chari.es PHEI.PS, b. Oct. 21, 1884, Mendota, 
111. A.B. '07. Writer for newspapers and magazines. 
3030 McGee St., Kansas City, Mo. Now on staff of 
Collier's Weekly, New York, N. Y. 

172 



Dachnowski, Ai.r'R!E:D Paul, b. Jan. 23, 1875, Koenigs- 
hiitte, Germany. A.M. (Taylor) '00. Ph.D. '06. As- 
sistant Professor of Botany, O. S. U., Columbus, 
Ohio. 

Demmon, Isaac Newton, b. Aug. 19, 1843, Northlield, 
Center, Summit Co., O'hio. A.B. '68. A.M. '71. Hon. 
IvIv.D. (University of Nasihville,) '96. Professor of 
English and Rhetoric, i88i-'o3. Professor of Eng- 
lish, 1903 — . Ann Arbor. 

Denton, George Bion, b. March 22, 1884, Detroit, Mich. 
A.B. '07. A.M. '09. Assistant in History and Rhet- 
oric, i907-'8, i9o8-'9. Instructor in English, NorlJh- 
western University. 811 Third Ave., Detroit, Mich. 

Denton, Wieeiam Weees, b. Aug. 18, 1882, Detroit, 
Mich. A.B. '07. A.M. (U. of 111.) 1909. Assistant 
in Mathematics, U. of 111., 1907-'! i. Teacher, 617 S. 
Wright St., Champaign, 111. 

DeVreE, Howard Vance, b. May 7, 1890, Grand Rapids, 
Mich. A.B. '13. With Kansas City Star, 1913— . 
Home address, 442 Fairview Ave., Grand Rapids, 
Mich. 

Dewey, FrEd Gray, b. March 22, 1879, Pontiac, Mich, 
A.B. '02. LL.B. Detroit College of Law, 1905. At- 
torney at Law. 610 Moffat Bldg., Detroit, Mich. 

Dibble, Charles Lemuel, b. Nov. 30, 1881, Marshall, 
Mich. A.B. (Cornell) '03. LL.B. '06. Lawyer. 714 
Kalamazoo National Bank Bldg., Kalamazoo, Mich. 

173 



1 



Dow, EarIvE, Wilbur, b. April 28, 1858, Bellfontaine, 
Ohio. A.B. '91. Instructor in History, i892-'99. As- 
sistant Professor of History, i899-'o2. Junior Pro- 
fessor of History, i902-'io. Professor of History, 
1910-- 554 Thormpson St., Ann Arbor. 

Eaman, Francis Dwight, b. 1877, Livingston iCo., iMioh. 
B.L. '00, /'98-'oi. Lraw3^er. Ford Bldg., Detroit, 

Mich. 

Eggerman, Donald Gilbert. Ph.B. (Wooster) '03. 
LL.B. '06. Lawyer. Shawnee, Okla. 

Eggerth, Arnold H. Assistant in Histological Labora- 
tory I9ii-'i2, I9i3-'i4. Taught in Anatone, Wash., 
High School, I9i2-'i3. 

FisHLEiGH, Walter Turner, b. Jan. 19, 1880, Chicago^ 
111. A.B. '02. B.S. (C.E.) '06. Head Department 
of Mathematics, Battle Creek High School, i903-'o4. 
Instructor Department Mechanism and Drawing, 
I907-'io. Assistant Engineer, Packard Motor Car 
Co., 1273 Helen Ave., Detroit, Mich. Assistant Pro- 
fessor Mechanical Engineering U. of M. 1913 — . 
952 Greenwood Ave., Ann Arbor. 

Fox, John SharplEss, b. Nov. 14, 1877, Lincoln Univer- 
sity, Pa. A.B. (Haverford College) '02. Ph.D. '06. 
Assistant in History i904-'o5. Peter White Fellow- 
ship in American History, i905-'o6. Instructor in 
History, University High School, Chicago, 111. 1154 
E. 56 St., Chicago, 111. 

174 



Friday, David, b. Sept. 30, 1876, Coloma, Mich. A.B. 
'08. Instructor in Economics, iqoS-'ii. Assistant 
Professor of Economics, I9ii-'i3. Professor 1913-. 
1203 Forest Ave., Ann Arbor. 

Fulton, Maurice Gari^and,, b. Dec. 3, 1877, Oxford, 
Miss. Ph.B. '98. University of Mississippi, A.M. 
'00. Instructor in English, U. of Miss. i900-'oi. As- 
sistant in Rhetoric, U. of M., i90i-'o3. Instructor in 
Rhetoric, U. of 111,, i903-'o4. Instructor in Rhetoric, 
U. of 111., i903-'o4. Instructor in Rhetoric, U. of M., 
i904-'5. Professor of English, Central University of 
Ky., i905-'o9. Professor of English, Davidson Col- 
lege, 1909-. Davidson, N. C. 

Gale, Esson McDowell, b. 1878, Ann Arbor, Mich.A.B. 
A.B. '07. A.M. '08. Assistant in Medieval History, 
U. of M, i907-'8. Deputy Consul General and In- 
terpreter, American Consulate General, Shanghai, 
China. P. O. Box 621 Shanghai 

Galloway, Charles Edwin, b. Sept. 16, 1879, Lamar- 
tine, Wis. A.B. '02. Machine Shop Foreman. Box 
434, Beaver Dam, Wis. 

Gauss, Christian, b. 1878, Ann Arbor, Mich. A.B. '98. 
A.M. '99. Instructor in French, U. of M., i899-'oi. 
Instructor in Modern Languages, Lehigh University, 
i9oi-'03. Assistant Professor, Lehigh, i903-'o5. Pre- 
ceptor Modern Languages, Princeton, i905-'o7. Pro- 
fessor Modern Languages, Princeton, 1907-. Prince- 
ton, N. J. 

175 



GuTKN^CHT, John, b. 1889, Chicago, 111. A.B, '11. In- 
structor in Rhetoric, and Debating Coach, Univer- 
sity of Colorado. 3824 Polk St., Chicago, 111. 

*Hadzsits, 'Walter David, b. Sept. 22,, 1874, Detroit, 
Midh. A.B. '98, A.M. '99, Ph.D. '02. Associate 
Professor of Latin, Smith College, I904-'io. Died 
July 29, 1910. 

Haines, Donal Hamii^ton, b. Feb. 28, 1886, Kalamazoo, 
A.B. '09. Magazine Writer. 423 West Lovell St., 
Kalamazoo, Mich. 

HA1.1.ER, Louis Patterson, b. Aug. 13, 1889, Omatia, 
Neb. A.B. '11. Law '14. Law Student. Home aid- 
dress, 2817 Popp'leton Ave., Omaha, Neb. 

Hayden, Edwin Andrew, b. Aug. 14, 1872, Burlington, 
Mich. B.Sc. (U. of Wis.) '94. Ph.D. '07. Profes- 
sor of Psychology and Education, State Normal Col- 
lege, Mo., since 1903. Teacher. Cape Girardeau, Mo. 

Hayden, J. Rai^ston, b. 1887, Quincy, 111. A.M. *ii, B.S. 
(Knox) '10, Assistant in American History, 1910- 
'12. Instructor in Political Economy, 1912 — , 819 S. 
State St., Ann Arbor, 'Mich. 

Helsei.1., Frank P., b. Sept. 6, 1883, A.B. '06 LL.B '08. 
President Michigan Union 1908. Lawyer. 436-39 
Burke Bldg., Seattle, Wash. 

Henderson, William D., b, Oct. 2^, 1866, Ingersoll, 
Canada, A.B. '03, A.M. '04, Ph.D. '06. Assistant 
Professor of Physics, U. of M., Junior Professor, 
1912-. looi Forest Ave., Ann Arbor. 

176 



Hii,!., Chari.es Edward, b. Sept. 2^, 1881, Rochelle Co., 
111. A.B. '06. A.M. '07. Teacher of Government in 
the Kansas State Normal School, i907-'i3. Emporia, 
Kansas. Present address, 960 N. Hudson Ave., Pasa- 
dena, Cal. 

H11.L, Norman Kingston, b. March 21, 1887. Buffalo 
N. Y. A.B. '11. Reporter, Detroit News. 

HoLBROOK, Evans, b. Jan. 15, 1875, Onawa, la. A.B. '97 
(Leland Stanford). IvL.B. Mich. 1900. Instructor in 
Law, 'o5-'o7. Assistant Professor of Law i907-'io. 
Professor of Law 1910. 719 East University Ave., 
Ann Arbor. 

HopwooD, James AvEry, b. May 28, 1882, Cleveland, 
Ohio. A.B. '05. Playwright. Author Clothes, Sev- 
en Days, Nobody's Widow, and other plays. 130 W. 
44 St., New York, N. Y. 

HuDEivSON, Chari.es Le Roy, b. Sept. 26, 1888, Benton, 
111. A.B. '12. Benton, 111. 

HuDNUTT, Joseph Fairman. B.Arch. '12. Teacher in 
Alabama Polytechnic Institute, Auburn, Ala. 

Hughes, Ceair Brinton, b. March 7, 1889, Ashland, 
Ohio. A.B. '12. Law Student. 2830 Collingwood, 
Toledo, Ohio. 

Hui.1., Ceark Lawrence, b. May 24, 1884, Akron, N. Y. 
A.B. '13. Principal of Sickles School, i9io-'i2. Ken- 
tucky State Normal School, Richmond, Ky. 

177 



Hull, lyAWRENCD Cameron, Jr., b. Dec. 23, 1886, Detroit, 
Mich. A.B. '05. B.C.L. (Oxford) '09. RJhodfes 
Scholar. Lawyer. 24 Broad St., New York City. 

Jones, Paui, Van Brunt, b. Aug. 20, 1883, Ann Arbor, 
Mich. A.B. '06. A.M. '08. Assistant in History, 
i907-'o8. Instructor in History, i9o8-'io. Ph.D. '13, 
University of Pa. Instructor in History, Bryn 
iM'awr, '13 — . Home ,address, 126 Packard St., Ann 
Arbor. 

Kane, Francis George, b. Feb. 3, 1884, Au Sable, Mich. 
A.B. '08. Instructor in Journalism, iqoq-'io. Uni- 
versity of Washington, Seattle, Wash. Editorial 
Writer, Detroit News. Professor of Journalism, 
Univ. of Washington, 1913 — . 

Keeney, Francis Bishop, b. 1884, Cambridge, Mich. 
A.B. '06. LL.B. '08. Lawyer. Union Trust Co. Bldg., 
Providence, R. I. 

Kemp, Edward Gearing, b. Jan. 22, 1887, St. Clair, Mich. 
A.B. '12. President Michigan Union 1912-13. Law 
Student. 

Kirk, Richard Ray, b. Nov. 20, 1877, St. Clair, Mich. 
A.B. '03. A.M. '04. Assistant in Rhetoric, U. of M. 
i903-'04. Instructor in Rhetoric, U. of M. i904-'8. 
Instructor in English, Cornell, 1909. Ithaca, N. Y. 

Koch, Theodore WesUy, b. Aug 14, 1871, Philadelphia, 
Pa. A.B. (U. of Pa.) 1892. A.B. (Harvard) '93. 

178 



A.M. (Harvard) '94. In charge of Fiske Dante Col- 
lection, Cornell University Library, i895-'oo. Assist- 
ant in Cataloguing Division, Library of Congress, 
'02-04. Assistant Librarian, U. of M. 'o4-'o5. Li- 
brarian, U. of M. 1905-. 1809 Hill St., Ann Arbor. 

Ladd, Sanford Webb, b. Dec. 2, 1877, Milford, Oakland 
Co., Mich. A.B. '01. /''oi-'02. Lawyer. Union Trust 
Bldg., Detroit, Mich. 

Lane, Robert Porter, b. 1889, Fort Wayne, Tnd. A.B. 
'13. Graduate Student. 1239 Washtenaw Ave., Ann 
Arbor. 

Lane, Winthrop David, b. May 29, 1887, Fort Wayne, 
Ind. A.B. '10. Sociological work. Staff of Survey. 
New York City. 

Lee, Walter Ceark, b. Oct. 19, 1876, Oxford, N. Y. 
A.B. (Yale) '99. LL.B. (Mich.) '04. Lumberman. 
Loughman, Florida. 

Leoyd Aefred Henry, b. Oct. 4, 1864, Montclair, N. J. 
A.B. (Harvard) '86. A.M. (Harvard) '88. Ph.D. 
(Harvard) '93. Instructor in English and Latin, 
Phillips Academy, Andover, Mass. i886-'87. Instruc- 
tor in Philosoph}-, U. of M. '9i-'94. Acting Assistant 
Professor '94-'95. Acting Professor '95-'9^. Assist- 
ant Professor, '96-'99. Junior Professor '99-'o7. Pro- 
fessor '01. 1735 Washtenaw Ave., Ann Arbor. 

Lyon, AebErT Eddy, b. April 18, 1885, Detroit, Mich. 
A.B. '08. Instructor in French and Spanish, 1909. 
U. of M. In Spain I9i2-'i3. 

179 



McCandlsss, Lewis Wilson, b. April 12, 1877, Prescott, 
Ariz. A.B. '98. LL.B. '01. Lawyer. 1132 Mar- 
quette Bldg., Chicago, 111. 7102 Normal Ave., Chi- 
cago. 

McElligott, John Seymour. Pih.B. '00. A.M. '01. 

McInnis, Norman King, "b. Newbury, Ontario, Can. 
A.B. '98. A.M. '99. Advertising. In care of N. W. 
Ayer & Son, Philadelphia, Pa. 

McLaughlin, Andrew Cunningham, b. Feb. 14, 1861, 
Bridgetown, 111. A.B. '82. LL.B. '85. Leipzig, '93- 
'94. A.M. Hon. '96. LL.D. '12., U. of M. Instructor 
Latin, U. of M., i886-'7. Instructor in History, 'B>7- 
'88. Assistant Professor i888-'9i. Professor of 
American History, i89i-'o6. Director of Carnegie 
Institution Bureau of Historical Research, i903-'o5. 
Head of Department of Histor}^, University of Chi- 
cago, 1906 — , Chicago, 111. 

MdMiLLAN, LyIvE Dee, b. Aug. 22>, 1889, Berlamont, 
Mich. A.B. '09. M.S. '11. Assistant in Histology, 
igoQ-'io. Fellow in Zoology, i9io-'ii. Student in 
Graduate School. In Philippines, I9ii-'i3. 

Marsh, Edward Clark, b. Feb. 19, 1875, Portland, Micfi. 
A.B. (Alma) '96. A.M. '00, U. of M. Publisher. 
64 Fifth Ave., New York. 

Marsh, Frank Burr, b. March 4, 1880, Big Rapids, 
Mich. A.B. '02, Ph.D. '06. Assistant in History, U. 

180 



of M. i903-'o5. Instructor in History, I905-'io. In- 
structor in History, University of Texas, 1910 — . 
Austin, Tex. 

Merritt^ WallE Wii^i^ard, b. Sept. 7, 1884, Blanchard, 
Mo. A.B. '08. J.D. '12. Lawyer. 500 Security 
Bank Bldg., Minneapolis, Minn. 

MiKAMi, YosHiNAGA, b. in 1878. Ph.D. '02. P. O. Box 
461, Mianila, P. I. 

MooRK, Eari, Vincent, b. Sept. 2^, 1890. A.B. '12. 
School of Music, U. of M. Teaching Assistant in 
Music, U. of M. 1912— . 624 Church St. Ann Arbor. 

Morton, Benjamin Ai^Exander, b. Jan. 12, 1878, Mt. 
Pleasant, Mich. LL.B. '03. Spanish War, Sergt. 
Co. D. 1st Sergt. Co. C. ist Ark. Vol. Inf. Corp. & 
Sergt. 6th U. S. Inf. Lawyer. 80 Broadway, New 
York City. 

MowRER, Eegar x\nsEe, b. March 8, 1892, Bloomington, 
111. A.B. '13. Abroad, 1913—- Home address, 5227 
Madison Ave., Chicago, 111. 

Neeson, Joseph RaeEigh, b. May 8, 1873, Bement, 111. 
A.B. '94, A.M. '03. Instructor in Latin and English, 
John Marshall Higth School, Chicago, i894-'oo. As- 
sistant Professor of Latin, Lewis Institute, Chicago, 
I900-'o8. Instructor in English, U. of M. i9o8-'io. 
Assistant Professor, 1910— . 927 Forest Ave., Ann 
Arbor. 

181 



OhIvINGEr, Gustavus AdolphUvS, b. July 15, 1877, Foo- 
chow, China. A.B. '99. LL.B. '02. Lawyer. 51-56 
Produce Exchange Bldg., Toledo, Ohio. 

Palmer, Gi<Enn Ernest, b, Feb. 9, 1886, Dexter, Mich. 
A.B. 1910. Assistant in Rhetoric, 1910-'! i. Instruc- 
tor in Rhetoric, State Univ., Lawrence, Kans. igii-12. 
162 Tremont St., Boston, Mass. 

Parker, Dewitt Henry, b. April 17, 1885, New York 
City. A.B. '06. Ph.D. '08, Harvard. Instructor in 
Philosophy, University of Michigan, i9o8-'09. In- 
structor, University of California, i909-'io. Instruc- 
tor at Michigan, i9io-'i3. Assistant Professor of 
Philosophy, 1913 — . Address, 1025 Baldwin Ave., 
Ann Arbor. 

Parry, Cari, Eugene, b. April i, 1883, Florida, Ohio. 
A.B. '05. A.M. '07. Ph.D. '09. Teaching Assistant, 
Political Economy and Sociology, igo6-'o7. Instruc- 
tor in Economics and Sociology, i907-'i3. Profes- 
sor of Political Economy, Ohio State University, 
1913 — . 212 W. loth Ave., Columbus, Ohio. 

Percivai,, Mieton, b. Feb. 26, 1882, Ashland, Ohio. A.B. 
(Harvard) 1906. A.M. (Harvard) 1907. Instructor 
in English, Oberlin, i907-'io. Instructor in Rhetoric, 
University of Minnesota, 1910. 1302 7th St. S. E., 
Minneapolis, Minn. 

Perez, Luis Marino, b. July 12, 1882, Kingston, Jamaica. 
A.B. '03. A.M. '04. Assistant in History, i903-'4. 
Dept. Hist. Research in Cuban Archives, Carnegie 

182 



Institution, Washington, 1905. Library of Congress, 
1906. Employed now in Government Service in 
Cuba, Havana. 

P^RRY, ChapjcEs Miwon, h. Union Township Branch 
Co., Mich. A.B. (Albion) '00. Ph.D. '11. Principal 
Sherwood Schools, iqoo-'oi. Science teacher, Cold- 
water H. S., i90i-'o3. Principal Coldwater H. S., 
'o3-'o6. Instructor in Philosophy, U. of M. 1911-12. 
Pastor, Unitarian Church, Iowa City, la., 1913 — . 

Person^ Harlow Stafford^ b. Feb. 16, 1875, Republican 
City, Neb. Ph.B. '99. A.M. '00. Ph.D. '02. Amos 
Tuck School of Administration and Finance, Dart- 
mouth College. Instructor in Commerce and Indus- 
try, i902-'o4. Secretary and Assistant Professor, 
i904-'o8. Director and Professor, 1908 — . Hanover, 
N. H. 

Peters, John Arthur, b. 1868, Michigan. A.B. '92. A.M. 
(Harvard) '98. Teacher in Marshall High School, 
Chicago. 8 Elizabeth Court, Oak Park, 111. 
A.M. '12. Instructor Rural School Dept., Western 
State Normal, Kalamazoo, Mich. Head of Rural 
School Dept., Normal School, Stevens Point, Wis., 
since 1912. 

Phieups, Uerich Bonnele, b. La Grange, Georgia, Nov 
4, 1877. A.B. '97. A.M. '99. Georgia. Ph.D. '02, 
Columbia. Instructor in History, i902-'o7. Assist- 
ant Professor of American History, i907-'o8, Univ- 
versity of Wisconsin. Professor of History and 

183 



Political Science, Tulane University, ipoS-'ii. Win- 
ner of Justin Winsor Prize in American History, 
1901. Professor of American History, University 
of Michigan, 191 1 — . 705 Cambridge Road, Ann 
Arbor. 

Pound, Arthur Charlks, b. June i, 1884, Pontiac, Mich, 
A.B. '07. Managing Editor Beacon Journal, Akron, 0. 

Prai,!,, David Wight, b. Oct. 5, 1886, Saginaw, Mich. 
Instructor in Rhetoric, University of Texas. Austin, 
Texas. 

Pride, Richard Van DerEn, m'i898-'o2, i903-'o4. Pub- 
lisher Tyler-Keystone, Ann Arbor, Mich., I9i2-'i3. 
4863 Kenmore Ave., Chicago, 111. 

QuiNN, Cyrii,,, b. Saginaw, Mich., Nov. 19, 1892. '14. 
1304 Court St., Saginaw, Mich. 

Rankin, Thomas Ernest, b. 1872, Edgerton, Kans. 
A.B. '98. A.M. '05. Professor of English and His- 
tory, College of Emporia, i902-'o5. Instructor in 
Rhetoric, U. of M., i905-'o7. Assistant Professor 
of Rhetoric;, 1907, Junior Professor, 1913 — . 605 Os- 
wego St., Ann Arbor, Mich. 

REasoner^ James Monroe, b. March 12, 1878, Climax, 
Mich. A.B. '01. lyL.B. '03. Attorney and Reporter 
porter of Supreme Court, Lansing, Mich. 

Rebec, George, b. March 11, 1868, Tuscola, Mich. Ph.B. 
'91. Ph.D. '97. Instructor in English, i89i-'93. In 
Philosophy, i894-'oo. Assistant Professor i900-'04. 
Junior Professor of Philosophy, i9o6-'o8. Professor 

184 



of Education, University of Oregon, Eugene, Ore., 
1908 — . Fruit Farm, Medford, Ore. 

Reed, John Oren, b. Dec. 31, 1856, Newcastle, Ind. Ph.D. 
'85. Ph.M. '93. Ph.D. (Jena) '97. Principal Sagi- 
naw High School (East Side) i885-'96. Instructor 
in Physics, U. of M., i892-'94. Assistant Professor 
i894-'99. Junior Professor 1899- '05. Professor 1905- 
'09. Professor and Director of Physical Laboratory, 
'09. Dean of Summer Session, i899-'o7. Dean of 
Literary Dept., 1907-. 904 Lincoln Ave., Ann Arbor. 
Absent on leave 1912-. 

Reeves, Jesse Siddai., b. Jan. 27, 1872, Richmond, Ind. 
B.Sc. (Amherst) '91. Ph.D. (Johns Hopkins) '94. 
Assistant Professor of Political Science, Dartmouth, 
i907-'io. Professor of Political Science, U. of M., 
1910 — . Ann Arbor. 

REye, Heinrich. A.B. '10. M.D. '13. Assistant in 
Physiology. Interne in Neurology, University Hos- 
pital, Ann Arbor. 

Robinson, John 'Sherman, b. Dec. 17, 1^0, Mansfield, 
Ohio. A.B. '03. LL.B. (Columbia) 1910. Principal 
of Bessemer, Mich. High School, i904-'o6. Supt. of 
Bessemer Schools, i9o6-'o7. Lawyer. 614 Colman 
Bldg., Seattle, Wash. 

Robinson, Thomas Linton, b. June 28, 1880, Ravenna, 
Ohio. Ph.B. '00. LL.B. '02. Vice-President of 
People's Dollar Savings & Trust Co., Youngstown, 
Ohio. 

185 



Rogers, Warren Lincoi^n, b. Nov. 14, 1877, Monmouth, 
N. J. A.B. '07. B.D. (Union TJieological Sem.) B.D. 
(General Theological Sem.) 191 1. Rector, Calvary 
Episcopal Church, Pittsburgh, Pa. 

Ro\^i,sTAD, AdoIvPH Marius, b. June 15, 1881, Elgin, 111. 
A.B. 1903. (St. Olaf's). A.M. '06. Professor of Lat- 
in, Luther College, Decorah, Iowa. 

RussELT,, James Herbert, b. Dec. 8, 1877, A,B. '03. 
Books, Stationery & Printing. Indiana, Pa. 

RussEivL, Wii/UAM David, b. 1876, '97-'oi. Working in 
School for Blind, 165 West Fort St., Detroit, Mich. 
Present address, Ann Arbor, Mich. 

S'AKUMA, Hideo. A.M. '05. Ph.D. '07. 22 Aoyama 
Minami-Cho, Tokyo, Japan. 

ScHENK, Philip Louis, b. Sept. 10, 1879, Ann Arbor, 
A.B. '02. A.M. '04. B.D. Union Theological Semin- 
ary, 1907. Instructor in Greek, New Testament 
Dept., Baker Univ. i9o7-'o8. Professor of Biblical 
Literature, i9o8-'io. Graduate Student, Harvard Di- 
vinity School. Holder of Williams Fellowship, 1910- 
'11. Congregational Pastor in Framingham, Mass. 

SchroEder, Werner W., b. Dec. 20, 1892. Assistant in 
Economics, Kankakee, 111. 

Scott, Fred Newton, b. Aug. 20, i860, Terre Haute, 
Ind. A.B. '84. A.M. '88. Ph.D. '89. Assistant Li- 
brarian, i884-'85, i887-'89. Instructor in English, 
1899- '90. Assistant Professor of Rhetoric, i890-'96. 

186 



Junior Professor i896-'oi. Professor 1901 — . Uni- 
versity Editor, 1897-1900. 1351 Washtenaw Ave., 
Ann Arbor. 

Scott, HaroIvD Phiuppi, b. July 11, 1888, Sykesville, Pa. 
A.B. '13. Taught Indiana State Normal of P,a. Sec- 
retary to Congressman from Pennsylvania, '13. In- 
structor in Rhetoric, University of Michigan, Ann 
Arbor. 

SeivI^ars, Roy Wood, b. July 9, 1880, Egmontville, Can- 
ada. A.B. '03. Ph.D. '09. Fel'low in Philosophy at 
University of Wisconsin I904-'o5. Instructor in 
Philoophy at U. of M., 'o5-'i3. Assistant Professor 
1913 — . 1 1 14 Prospect St., Ann Arbor. 

Shaw, Wii^frKd Byron, b. Jan. 10, 1881. A.B. '04. Gen. 
eral Secretary Alumni Association, Editor, Michigan 
Alumnus, 1904 — . 900 Forest Ave., Ann Arbor. 

Shoai??, FredKric Barnett, b. Oct. 7, 1877, Fort Wayne, 
Ind. Ph.B. '00. A.M. '03 (Columbia). I.L.B. '03 
(Columbia). Lawyer, Shoaff Bldg., Fort Wayne, 
Ind. 

Simons, Frank Stanton, A.B. '98. LL.B. '00. Lawyer. 
Ford Bldg., Detroit, Mich. 

S1.AUGHTER, John Wilus, b. Jan. 10, 1878, Camp Hill, 
Ala. B.A. and B.D. Lombard College, '98. Ph.D. 
U. of M. '01. Docent, Clark University. Lecturer, 
U. of Cincinnati. Lecturer, U. of London. Now in 
Paraguay, South America. 

187 



Si.EA'TOR, Wii,i.iAM Warner, b. May 24, 1883, Dexter, 
Mich. A.B. '09. A.M. '11. Teadher of Mathematics, 
Bessemer, Mich., i905-'o7. Assistant in Physics, 1907- 
'09. Instructor in Physics, 1909 — . ^2^ S. Thayer 
St., Ann Arbor. 

SivUSsER, Jean Paui,, b. Dec. 15, 1886, Wauseon, Ohio. 
A.B. '09. A.M, '11. Asisstant in Rhetoric, 
1910-'! I. University Fellow in English. Boston Her- 
ald, I9ii-*i2. Instructor University of Texas, Aus- 
tin, Texas. 

Smith, Herbert Cai^dweli., b. Sept 29, 1879, Detroit. 
A.B. '02. Broker & Commission Merchant, with F. 
B. Neuhoff & Co., Detroit, Mich. 

* SMAI.LEY, Harrison Standish, b. April 18, 1878, Chi- 
cago, 111. A.B. '00. Ph.D. '03. Fellow in Political 
Economy, U. of M., i902-'o3. Instructor 'o3-'o7. As- 
sistant Professor 1907-*! i. Professor I9ii-'i2. Died 
Sept. 26, 1912. 

SoNNENSCHEiN, Hugo, b. Nov. 19, 1883, Chicago, 111. 
A.B. '05. LL.B. '07. Assistant Instructor in Con- 
stitutional Law, i9o6-'7. Lawyer. 934, 30 North La 
Salle St., Chicago, III. 

SPAUI.DING, George Oi^ivEr, b. Nov. 22, 1891, St. Johns, 
Mich. A.B. '12. University of Chicago, Graduate 
Student. St. Johns, Mich. 

Stani^ey, Albert Augustus, b. May 25,, 1851, R. I. 
A.M. Hon. '90, U. of M. Professor of Music, U. of 

M. 1888—. Ann Arbor. 

188 



Stevens, Herman Campbell, b. Nov. 12, 1878, Elkhart, 
Ind. A.B. '01. Ph.D. Cornell, '05. Assistant Pro- 
fessor of Psychology, U. of Wash., Seattle, igo7-i^. 
Now Professor in University of Chicago, Chicago, 
111. 

Stokes, John Hinchman, b. Sept. i, 1885, Munich, 
Germany. Assistant in Zoology, 1907. A.B. '08. M.D. 
'12. Practicing Physician, Frankenmuth, Mich. In- 
structor in Medical Dept., U. of M., 1913 — . 

StrEETER, George I^inius, b. Jan. 12, 1873, Johnston, N. 
Y. A.B. (Union College) '95. A.M. (Columbia) 
and M.D. '99. Assistant and Instructor in Anatomy, 
Johns Hopkins, i902-'o6. Associate Professor of 
Neurology, Wistar Institute of Anatomy, i9o6-'o7. 
Professor of Anatomy, U. of M. 1907—. Ann Ar- 
bor. 

Stuart, Donaed Ceive, b. April 10, 1881, A.B. '03. A.M. 
'04. Plh.D. (Columbia) '10. Instructor in Modern 
Languages, Princeton University. Playwright. 
Princeton, N. J. 

Symons, James Shireey, b. 1878. *^-9^, '99-'oo. Sea- 
man, U. S. S. Yosemite, 1898. 1028 Hoyt Ave., Sag- 
inaw, Mich. 

Taecott, Harry Harvey, b. Aug. 6, 1877, D^s Moines, 
111. A.B. '01. Lawyer, Chicago. Des Plaines, 111. 

Thomas Joseph Morris, b. 1876, Saugatuck, 'Mich. Ph.B. 
'98. A.M. '03. Ph.D. '10. Instructor U. of M. 1901- 
'06. Assistant Professor U. of M. I9o6-'o9. Pro- 

189 



fessor and Head of Department of Rhetoric and 
Public Speaking, U. of Minnesota, 1909 — . 623 14th 
Ave., S. E., 'Minneapolis, Minn. 
Thomason, Samuei* Emory, b. Jan. 24, 1883, Chicago, 
111. A.B. '04. Lawyer. 1045 1 S. Seeley Ave., Chi- 
cago, 111. 

Thurston, Edwin Ricb, b. Jan. 11, 1889, Lima, Ohio. 
A.B. '13. 2509 Parkwood Ave., Toledo, Ohio. 

Tompkins, Frank Gerow, b. Oct. 30, 1879, Litchfield, 
Mich. A.B. '07, A.M. '11. Principal of High School, 
I904-'o6. Instructor in Rhetoric, M.A.C., i9o8-*09. 
Instructor in Rhetoric, U. of M. '09 — . 809 S. State 
St., Ann Arbor, 

TowNi^EY, John Hurlburt, b. July 17, 1887, Jackson, 
Mich. A.B. '13. Assistant in English, I9i2-'i3. In- 
tstructor in English, Corndl, 1913 — . Address, care 
Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. 

TuTTi,E, A1.ONZ0 Hubert, b. Aug. 30, 1873, Decatur, 111. 
A.B. '96, A.M. '03. LL.B. '03 (Ohio State) Profes- 
sor of American History, Political Science and Law^, 
O. S. U. State Senator, 1908-'! i. Professor of Law. 
32s W. 9th Ave., Columbus, Ohio. 

Van ClEve, Ralph Houston, b. Aug. 17, 1877, Ypsilanti, 
Mich. A.B. '01. Concrete Contractor. Exeter, 
Tulare Co., Calif. 

Van Tyne, Claude Halstead, b. Oct. 16, 1869, Tecum- 
seh, Mich. A.B. '96. Ph.D. '00. (U. of Penn.) As- 

190 



istant Professor of American History, i903-'o5. 
Professor American History, 1905 — . 717 Cam- 
bridge Road, Ann Arbor. Absent on leave, I9i3-'i4. 

Van ViyiilT, Frank, b. Nov. 12, 1874, Vriesland, Nether- 
lands. A.B. '02. A.M. '08. Teacher, Oakland, Calif. 
H. S. Teacher of Math, in Polj^echnic High School. 
1602 Pacific Ave., Long Beach, Cal. Now in Grand 
Rapids High School. 

Van Wesep, Henry, b. 1888, Amsterdam, Netherlands. 
A.B. '12. Fellow in Philosophy, Princeton Univer- 
sity, Princeton, N. J. 

ViBBERT, Charles Bruce, b. Aug. 24, 1877, Armada, 
Mich. A.B. '04. Instructor in Philosophy, U. of M. 
i907-'i2. Assistant Professor of Philosophy, U. of 
M. 1912 — . 819 S. State St., Ann Arbor. 

Viger, Nathan Thomas, b, Sept. 4, 1882, Detroit, Mich. 
A.B. '05. President, Viger Charcoal Co., Detroit. 
49 King Av., Detroit, Mich. 

Vinton, Warren Jay, b. Dec. 30, 1889, Detroit, Mich. 
A.B. '11. Secretary Vinton Co., Building Contract- 
ors. 91 Willis Ave., W., Detroit, Mich. 

Wagner, Franki^in Ai.i,an, b. Jan. 2.^, 1877, Decatur, 
Mich, '99-'oi, LL.B. '04. Corporal and Company 
Clerk, Co. A. 31, Michigan Volunteer Infantry, 1898- 
'99. Lawyer. Mutual Life Building, 34 Nassau St., 
New York City. 

191 



Wai^dron, Eth^i^bert Webb, b. Vergennes, Mich., Sept. 
8, 1882. A.B. '05. Instructor, Eng. Univ. of Ari- 
zona, I9o8-'io. Staff of Bngineering News, New 
York City, 191 2-. 

Watkins, James Keir, b. May 24, 1887, Normal, 111. 
A.B. '09. Probation Officer, Detroit, Rhodes Schol- 
ar, Oriel College, Oxford, 191 1 — . 909 Center Av., 
Bay City, Mich. 

Weeks, A1.BERT lyOREN, b. May 31, 1888, Rochester, N.Y. 
A.B. '10. City Editor, News Tribune. 60 Clairmont 
Ave., Detroit. 

Weigand, Herman John, b. Nov. 17, 1892, Philadelphia, 
Pa. A.B. '13. Assistant in German, U. of M. 849 
Tappan St.,, Ann Arbor. 

WE11.ER, Leo Carl, b. Oct. 9, 1887, Joplin, Mo. A.B. '07. 
Harvard Law School. Lawyer. 500 W. 213th St., 
New York, N. Y. 

WiNSTEN, Harry Jerome, b. Sept. 14, 1875. B.L. '00. 
/'98-'oo. Sales Mngr. and Treasurer, Standard Elec- 
tro-Utilities Co. Kenosha, Wis, 

Wei^ch, Roy Dickinson, b. Jan. 19, 1885. A.B. '09. In- 
structor in History and Analysis, School of Music 
1912 — . 2011 Geddes Ave., Ann Arbor. 

WENI.EY, Robert Mark, b. July 19, 1861, Edinburg'h, 
Scotland. M.A. (ist Class in Philosophy, Univer- 
sity Medallist in Philosophy and Theology, Fellow), 

192 



1884. President of the Students' Representative 
Council, President of the Union, President of the 
Liberal Club, President of the Philosophical Society, 
Glasgow. Sc.D., Edinburgh, 1891. Hon. LL. D. 
Glasgow, 1901. Litt. D. Hobart College, 1908. Assis- 
tant Professor of Logic, Glasgow, i885-'88, i89i-'4. 
Public Examiner for Degrees in Philosophy and 
English Literature, Glasgow, i888-'9i. Lecturer on 
Philosophy, Queen Margaret College, Glasgow, 1885 
(in charge of the Department, i887-'96). Life Fel- 
low of the Royal Society (Edinburgh, 1896). Fel- 
low of the Royal Society of Literature (London, 
1896). On Council of the Goethe Society, i893-'6. 
Lecturer under the Extension Board of the Univer- 
sity of Glasgow, 1888 (Sec'y i889-'96). Dean of the 
Faculty of Arts in Queen Margaret College, i89i-'5. 
Lecturer on English Literature in the Glasgow 
Athenaeum^ i892-'6. Lecturer in University Hall, 
Edinburgh, i894-'6. Memher of the Aristotelian So- 
ciety of London, 1896. Vice-President of the Scot- 
tish Branch of the Teachers' Guild of Great Britain, 
1896. Professor of Philosophy, University of Mich- 
igan, 1896—. Ann Arbor. 

Wiley, Merlin Ludlow, b. May j, 1875, Shepherd, Mich. 
A.B. '02. LL.B. '04. Instructor in Public Speak- 
ing, U. of M., i903-'4. Prosecuting Attorney, Chip- 
pewa Co., i909-'io. Lawyer. Sault Ste. Marie, 



Mich. 



193 



WII.I.SON CoRwiN Dai^e, lb. 1889. Eng. and Lit. 'o5-'o6. 
Lit. 'o5-'o9. Publisher. Flint, Mich. 

Winkler, Max, b. Sept. 4, 1866, Krakau, Austria, A.B. 
(Harvard) '89. Ph.D. (U. of M.) '92. Assistant 
Professor of Modern Languages, U. of Kans. 1889- 
'90. Instructor in German, U. of M. i890-'95. As- 
sistant Professor i89S-'oo. Acting Professor 1900- 
'02. Professor 1902 — . Ann Arbor. 

Winter, John Garrett, b. Feb. 14, 1881, Holland, Mich. 
A.B. '01 (Hope College.) A.M. '04. Ph.D. '06. In- 
structor in Latin and Greek, Hope College, i90i-'03. 
Instructor in Greek and Latin, U. of M. 'o6-'ii. As- 
sistant Professor 1911 — . 901 Forest Ave., Ann 
Arbor. 

Wood, Andrew Hoi^lister, b. Dec. 11, 1876, Marine City, 
Mich. Ph.B. '00. LL.B. (Denver U.) '07. Instructor 
Business Law, U. of Denver, 1909 — . Attorney. 525 
Foster Bldg., Denver, Colo. 

WoRRELE, Wieeiam Hoyt, b. April 28, 1879. Toledo, 
Ohio. A.B. '03. B.D. (Hartford Theol. Sem.) '06. 
Ph.D. (Strassburg) '09. Instructor in Semitics, 
U. of M. i9o8-'io. Instructor in Semitic Philology 
and Helenistic Greek, Hartford Theological Semi- 
nary 19 10 — . Hartford Theological Seminary, Hos- 
mer Hall, Hartford, Conn. Absent in Orient 1912-13. 

194 



Wright, Gkorg^ Gr^Kn, b. May 29, 1892, Wheatky, On- 
tario, Canada. A.B. '13. 307 Ferry Ave. W., Detroit, 
Mich. 

Young, Kari, Hinman, b. Nov. 2, 1879, Clinton, Iowa. 
A.B. '01. A.;M. (Harvard) '02. Ph.D. (Harvard) 
'07. Associate Professor English, University of Wis- 
consin, 1910 — . Madison, Wis. 

Young, Lafay^tt^, b. Atlantic, Iowa. Ph.B. '00. LL.B. 
'01 (Iowa). Business Mgr., The Des Moines Cap- 
itol, Des Moines, Iowa. 

Zimmerman, Thkophil John, b. Tiffin, Ohio. A.B. '01. 
A.M. '02. Fellow in American History, U. of M. 
i90i-'2. Editor "System," and Publisher, i N. 
Wabash Ave., Chicago, 111. 



195 



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